#fic: indecent offerings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

100vern · 9 days ago

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in the zone | ksy

what do you do when it feels like your entire life is falling apart? you spend the last of your inheritance on a beach house for the summer, of course. sure, the listing was suspiciously cheap, and there’s a massive waterpark right outside the bedroom window, but you just need to get away, so it’ll have to do. besides, it’s not like your entire world can get turned upside down in three months… right?

⟡ pairing: hoshi x f. reader ⟡ genre: strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst ⟡ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⟡ warnings: bestie minghao. lots of talk about wasted potential, dead-end jobs, fear of change, job-based insecurity, self-doubt (no this is NOT a self-insert why do you ask!!). mentions of grief and mourning a loved one but nothing super heavy. alcohol and weed use. swearing. mentions of food/eating. pet names (baby, pretty girl). two down bad losers who are disgustingly into one another after a concerningly short amount of time, which is the beauty and entire point of fanfiction. please suspend any and all disbelief, thank u! ⟡ smut warnings: kissing. grinding/dry humping. public indecency but not public sex. hair pulling. dirty talk & praise. oral sex (f. receiving, mentions of m. receiving). protected vaginal sex. everyone orgasms. ⟡ wordcount: 20.2k ⟡ credits: bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over for me, as always. i was in a time crunch and we're under a tornado watch so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own. if there's anything glaring i will fix it at a later date. :') ⟡ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me participate. please make sure to check out the rest of the fics! ♡ ⟡ author's note: this is based entirely on the beach town i spent all my summers at as a kid, so there's a lot of nostalgia here. i wasn't sure i was gonna get this done on time, but with the power of god and anime vyvanse on my side, we managed to pull through... even if we had to pivot bc my original plan would've tripled the length. i hope you enjoy it!

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this.

“It’s not fate,” Minghao comments unhelpfully from his side of the lunch table, “it’s suspicious. It’s also highly concerning that they look the same to you.”

You frown. Spear a piece of near-wilted spinach on the end of your fork, sending a bead of salad dressing onto your phone that you don’t notice and consequently smear all over your screen when you scroll through the rental listing with your other hand. “Do the horrors ever cease?” Minghao stares blankly at you. You sigh at his lack of humor. “Are you saying you don’t think I should go?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, handing over a napkin. “On the contrary, I think you need to get the fuck out of here. All I’m saying is I think you should go to a place that isn’t such an obvious scam.”

A scoff escapes you as you stare down at the listing again. Super Host Soonyoung stares back at you for the hundredth time today. If it were possible to judge someone’s character from a blurry internet picture the size of an ant, you think he’d seem very kind with his beaming smile and doughy cheeks, not to mention the stylish sunglasses sitting atop his head that seem like they were purchased from an actual store and not a military-grade infomercial.

Besides, he’s opening up his home to strangers. Shitty people don’t do that, do they?

“They do if they’re landlords,” Minghao deadpans.

You concede the point. Not that you’d argue, anyway—renting out your beach house for the entirety of the summer is near-textbook landlording—but the lunch room is starting to fill up, and the last thing you need (or want) is your coworkers asking questions.

Aside from Minghao, these people are not your friends. They’re people you offer that weird closed-mouth smile to when you meet at the coffee machine and awkwardly have to wait your turn, sharing fake laughs when one of you complains that, no matter what option you pick, it always comes out tasting like an ashtray. They’re people you sign birthday cards for and have no idea how old they’re turning. They’re people who tell you all about their families and show you pictures of spouses and kids you swore belonged to someone else.

They’re people whose names you can’t match to faces when you get office-wide emails congratulating them on anniversaries and accomplishments; celebrating retirements; regretfully announcing departures for bigger and better things. They’re people you swear at under your breath for microwaving something foul or not pulling their weight; for wearing too much cologne and kissing ass for promotions that’ll never be theirs.

These people are not your friends, but you’ve been here so long that it feels like they should be.

“I need to decide before everyone else gets the same idea and it gets booked up.” A loud cackle sounds from the table beside you. Deborah, one of the new hires. You’d been expecting a picture of a middle-aged woman when her introductory email had been sent out. Imagine your surprise when a baby-faced new grad was staring back at you. “Wanna get together after work and tell me all the reasons why this is a terrible idea?”

Minghao, the bastard that he is, pretends to check his calendar. “Hmm. Looks like I’m all booked on the ‘dispensing extremely valuable advice no one listens to’ front. I do, however, have an opening tomorrow. Mimosa-drunk at brunch or wine-drunk at a more socially acceptable hour. Your choice.”

A glance at your phone tells you you’ve got five minutes and three-quarters of your salad left before your mandatory unpaid lunch break is over. You stab at the mixed greens again and frown—you left it too long and now everything is all soggy and gross. “First of all, this is the worst salad I’ve made this year. Don’t let me try any more Pinterest recipes. Second of all, you never ask me to hang out on weekends.” You narrow your eyes at him. “What’re you doing tonight? Do you have a date?”

Deborah immediately stops shrieking, attention piqued by her eavesdropping. Of course, she tries to play this off by pretending to check her makeup in her phone camera, except you can see her screen—and that she accidentally opened her credit card app.

So far, she owes $2,927.43 for the month of January.

A bastard but not an idiot, Minghao shakes his head, aware of the eyes on him. “No,” he answers, and his voice is so solid and sure you nearly believe him. “Well, not like that. I’m meeting my parents for dinner.”

God, you can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above Deborah’s head.

“Well, wine-drunk sounds better to me,” you answer, ignoring the fact that Minghao’s parents are in Turks and Caicos this week for their anniversary. Which he told you three days ago. “Orange juice gives me heartburn.”

With a put-upon sign, Minghao stands from the table. Gathers his trash and drapes his cardigan over his shoulders in a way that looks fashionable and cool. “I have got to make plans with people my own age.”

You snort. “Well, you can always ask—“

He cuts you off with a very pointed, “Back to the grind,” even though he says that’s “stuff white people say, along with ‘another day in paradise!’—and if you ever ask a white person how they’re doing and they respond with ‘I’m alive,’ you need to take a half-day.”

Everyone in this place is so fake.

And it isn’t like your day gets any better. An hour before closing time, your manager pops up on the ledge of your cubicle. “Heeey,” she chimes, pretending to wince at what’s about to come out of her mouth next. All things considered, she’s nowhere near the worst person to work for: she’s trustworthy, didn’t hesitate to give you the time off you needed, sends funny memes in the team group chat. So your whole thing with her isn’t her fault, it’s just—she’s years younger than you, so it touches on all those old insecurities. “Glenn needed to take the rest of the day, and in true Glenn fashion he didn’t get those reports done before he left. I hate to ask, but could you maybe, possibly, perhaps stay a little late…?”

In the split-second since she appeared at your desk like a bad omen, you’ve made up your mind: that beach house will be yours for the entire summer, scam or not.

Because you hate Glenn as much as the next guy (which, on your team, is mostly everyone), but you hate this place as an institution even more. What it represents. The insecurities and inadequacies it picks at. How comfortable you’ve grown here and the convenient excuses that comfort provides.

So you agree before you can come to your senses, because saying no will look bad, and the only thing you’ve got going for you and having been here so long with barely anything to show for it is the amount of PTO you’ve racked up, so you can’t and won’t give anyone a reason to refuse your request.

With a few minutes left in the day, everyone starts packing up and discussing weekend plans: sports and TV series they’ll be watching, new coffee shops they’re checking out, hobbies they’ll be catching up on. Before you can up the volume in your headphones, your cubicle mate asks if you’re doing anything fun. “Ah, just trying that new winery tomorrow, I think,” you answer, and you hope she won’t remember this come Monday because you don’t know anything about wine and can’t think of many things worse than discussing it.

Five-thirty hits. Everyone trickles out while you stay seated, glued to your desk and receiving everyone’s sympathetic glances. It takes a half hour just to get into Glenn’s reports because, for reasons unknown to you and your manager, he password-protected them—and once you’re in you see why. Half-baked columns, wrong formulas used even though knowing and understanding Excel was a job requirement, numbers you can’t trace back to any of the provided data. At seven you’re ready to put your head through a concrete wall. By eight you finally hit the halfway mark.

At quarter to ten, you finally send off the reports and sit back in your chair. Sitting in thischair for so long has to be doing irreversible damage, so you make a mental note to schedule a massage for tomorrow afternoon before you meet up with Minghao. With a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to conjure up some moisture. Nearly five hours after the rest of your coworkers, you pack up your belongings, twisting your body as you stand and trying not to wince as your knees and back make some concerning sounds.

Then, before you shut down your computer and go home to rot in bed until you’re forced to socialize, you put in your PTO request for June 2nd through August 29th.

(It gets approved first thing Monday morning.)

Vacations (In Theory) are very different from Vacations (In Practice).

Here you are on May 30th, mentally preparing for another long night hunched over your desk. Not only do you need to work ahead as much as you can for your nearly three month absence, you also have to include a paper trail to prove you at least tried to problem-solve before dumping it on whoever’s unlucky enough to cover you.

Minghao waits for you. Plops his stuff on your desk, pulls up a chair, and scrolls through social media while you work, making offhand comments every now and then about people you don’t know and all their drama while you try not to comment on how weird it is. In all the years you’ve worked together and have been friends, he’s never stuck around while you worked late, but the excuse had been convenient: I have plans tomorrow and you’re leaving early on Sunday so let’s grab dinner after work was much easier to say than I’m not going to see you for three months so let’s grab dinner because I’ll miss you.

You hadn’t commented on that, either.

Nonetheless, you put your head down and focus. Minghao had made a seven-thirty reservation at a place more upscale than the two of you usually frequent, and you’ll need to hustle if you have any hope of getting out of here within the hour.

Time seems to fly after that. Not only at work, but at dinner, too. Despite your first impression of him (deeply serious with a cutting resting bitch face), you’ve always enjoyed spending time with Minghao. He’s funny, now that you’re acquainted with his sense of humor, and he’s both carefree and solid in ways you could only dream of being. All of his troubles seem to come and go like the tide, never sticking around for too long and overstaying their welcome. The thought of him no longer being there when you return is too much to bear, so you make him promise not to change jobs until you’re back.

He quirks an eyebrow and pulls a face. “First of all, you’re going on vacation, you’re not dying. Second, I’m not promising you that. I apply to twenty jobs a week at minimum. I don’t want to be—” He pauses. Seems to be aware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to be like you, working a dead-end job.

I don’t want to be like you, undervalued by every metric of the word.

I don’t want to be like you, latching onto something no good for me just because it’s comfortable and I’m terrified of change.

I don’t want to be like you.

Minghao flushes. Stumbles over apologies. “No need to apologize,” you assure him, plastering on a smile you know isn’t fooling anyone. Take a sip of your drink to feign normalcy. Take a bite of food that tastes like sawdust. Good thing you were almost done, anyway.

Because Minghao was right, and everyone knows it.

Saying goodbye is awkward at best and painful at worst. Deep down, you know Minghao is just embarrassed—you would be, too, in his shoes—but just like Vacations (In Theory) and Vacations (In Practice), what you logically know to be true is very different from what you internalize. Because it’s not just embarrassment, it’s also the reason you don’t go for team drinks; the reason you don’t have anything personal on your desk. You just don’t see the point in integrating yourself into a place you shouldn’t be to begin with.

But that’s the whole point of this vacation, isn’t it?

Three months without having to think about work. Three months to decompress and pretend you’re going to do all that philosophical shit, like six a.m. trips to the beach to stare at the waves, stick your toes in the sand, and “find yourself.” Whatever that means.

There’s not much to do around the apartment except making sure you eat whatever’s left in the fridge. Coming home to a bunch of rotten food and having to go back to work the next day? Absolutely not. You’d need to bypass your office and go straight to an institution instead. You spend the rest of the day doing laundry and packing. You stand in front of your shelves and deliberate for far too long over which books to bring and then you do the same with your music library as you stare down at an empty playlist.

It’s early when your alarm goes off—barely eight o’clock, the sun already high in the sky as it beams through your curtains, birds chirping. Feels like waking up on a holiday morning or the first day of school: giddy excitement on the surface, nerves simmering just below. Makes it easy to get up and make your bed, to get dressed and put on sunscreen, your sunglasses, when there’s no dread weighing you down. Makes it easy not to mind the hours-long drive. Makes it easy to drive with the windows down, music loud, the wind in your hair.

Makes it easy to feel like you’re driving towards something, rather than away from it.

Halfway there, you stop at a small cafe for lunch, the feeling almost transcendental as you eat outside and let the sun warm your skin. You order an iced coffee to-go and it sweats in the cupholder, nothing but melted ice by the time you pull off the highway and navigate the smaller back roads, some of them covered in sand. You take a deep breath and smile. Everything smells like the sea—salty and slightly sweet, the sulphur of low tide.

The town looks like a postcard.

In your excitement, you’ve looked at a lot of pictures over the last few months, but none of them can compare to reality. Ice cream shops with striped awnings. Sidewalks covered in chalk doodles. More seafood restaurants than you can count. Antique and surf shops. Wooden playgrounds next to fenced-in basketball and tennis courts. Families walking back from the beach, pushing sleeping kids in strollers, lugging chairs and coolers and boogie boards behind them.

That excitement creeps back in the closer you get, and at every red light you look around and marvel at all the houses. How uniform they are. How they’re all elevated with ground-floor garages. The porthole windows and porches wrapped in white railing. Front yards with pinwheels stuck in thin strips of grass. Colorful cruiser bicycles stashed in tiny alleyways behind the houses, some laying on their sides with the wheels still spinning. If you close your eyes you can hear laughter and bells.

You pull into the driveway at ten after three, surprised to find that this house doesn’t look like all the others. Where they had vinyl siding in neutral, inoffensive colors, this one is mint green, bright and vibrant, with white scalloping along the facade. It reminds you of ice cream—the flowers in the wooden boxes beneath the windows look like sprinkles, and with how close you are to the boardwalk, the smell of fried dough hanging in the air, it’s easy to pretend.

Out of the car, an older couple in matching windbreakers waves as they pass you on the sidewalk. Everything sounds so much closer: the waves crashing, delighted shrieks from people on rides, the men combing the beach, trying to sell drinks and popsicles, squawking seagulls in search of someone’s food. You can see the ocean from where you stand, peeking out from beneath the boards. This is exactly what I needed, you think. Feels like your smile is permanent.

Until you try to get into the house.

You’d been given a door code when you confirmed your reservation. It doesn’t work. No matter how many times you try, 0-5-2-5 gets you nothing but a blinking red light and an encroaching panic. Phone already in hand, you send a message to the rental host—Hi! I’m at the house, but the door code doesn’t seem to be working. Is there another one I can try? Thank you!—before sitting on the porch steps to await your fate.

What you expect: a response rife with apologies, both for the mix-up and the inconvenience.

What you get: someone stampeding down the stairs and pulling the door open.

Super Host Soonyoung stands in the doorway wearing a sheepish smile and red-tinged cheeks. Except for the sunglasses, he looks just like his picture (especially the doughy cheeks), so at least you know you’ve got the right place. Still, you ask, “Hi, are you Soonyoung?” just to confirm, and that seems to knock him out of his stupor, offering to grab your bags and give you a tour.

Which seems strange. You don’t really need a tour, do you? Surely you’ll be able to find your way around over the next few months, but Soonyoung is extremely apologetic and seems a little embarrassed so you don’t say anything. You do let him grab your bag, though—mostly because meeting new people is always difficult for you, so letting him take one bag while you take the other gives you something to do with your hands. Gives you something to comment on and laugh about when he pretends to strain taking it out of the trunk.

When you get inside, Soonyoung gives you the choice of three bedrooms. Two are upstairs. Of those, one has two large windows facing the street, rewarding you with a view of the boardwalk and the ocean, while the other also has beach views that are semi-obstructed by the waterpark. The third and final bedroom is downstairs, just off the kitchen. Soonyoung offers this one and says it might be “less awkward,” which also strikes you as strange, considering—

Wait.

“Bathroom-wise, it doesn’t really matter what one you pick. There are full bathrooms on both levels—”

Reality hits you like a truck, head-on and all at once. Maybe it’s less reality and more the obvious, because listening to Soonyoung explain where the bathrooms are and giving you a tour and being here in general puts a lot of things into perspective very quickly.

“I think I fucked up,” are the only words you’re able to muster. Soonyoung’s mouth snaps closed. “Or you did. Either way, one of us really, really fucked up.” Soonyoung pauses. Tilts his head to the side like a puppy, the confusion obvious, and you think he’s about to ask what you mean so you beat him to it. “The listing was for the entire house.”

That does it.

“I—what? Are you sure?”

The second question is rhetorical. You know it, Soonyoung knows it, everyone knows it, so you don’t answer, just nod and offer a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile and hope the ground will split apart and swallow you.

Horrifyingly, all you can think at this moment is that Minghao was right about this being a scam. You’ll have to tuck your tail between your legs and tell him, because you can’t stay here. Sharing a space—not only is it foreign to you, you’re not sure you even can. There’s an art to being a good roommate, and after living alone both during college and all your years as an adult, it’s not a skill you have.

And it takes a while, longer than you expected, for the disappointment to hit. For all that excitement and all the plans you had—sticking your toes in the cold, early morning sand; sunset walks up and down the boardwalk; eating so much fried food you’re sick of it within a week; waking up to the sound of waves crashing—to come crashing down around you. This was supposed to be a reset. A reward for dragging yourself this far and surviving. A balm for all the regrets you have about your life and a compass to find a new direction.

All of it—gone.

The tears are just as embarrassing as you thought they’d be.

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t panic. He doesn’t seem to flinch at all, which surprises you; he gently grabs your arm and helps you to the small table in the kitchen. Pulls out a chair and gestures for you to sit, and when you do and he can be sure you aren’t going to bolt straight out the door, he pours you a glass of water, sits across from you, and calmly says, “We can figure this out.”

Any other time you’d probably scoff and say something that belied just how hopeless you found this entire situation, but now, after experiencing a concerning number of mental breaks in a very short amount of time, you’re happy to let someone else take the reins and do the heavy lifting. Of course, you don’t know what that looks like in this case. Do you ask for a refund and try to find a hotel? Surely not: any reputable hotel would cost ten times what you spent on this place, not to mention they’ve probably been booked solid since last year. Do you ask for a refund, find a hotel, book as long of a stay as you can, and spend the rest of your summer having a staycation at home? That sounds miserable.

There are probably thousands of podcasts talking about what a horrible idea it’d be to live with a strange man for three months, and it’s your fault for idealizing this entire trip so much to begin with that makes any alternative seem like a fate worse than death, but you can’t stay… right? Even if it somehow wasn’t the stupidest idea of all time, that doesn’t even touch on the fact that it’s Soonyoung’s house, and who's to say he even wants you here, anyway?

“Since this was my second embarrassing fuck up of the day, I’ll just… go somewhere else while you’re here, and you can have the house to yourself.”

You blink. “For three months?”

His eyes widen for a brief second. You’re starting to think he wasn’t prepared for any scenario, let alone this one. “I—yeah, yeah, of course. Three months! Psh, that’s nothing, you know? Barely any time at all.”

“I mean, it’s a quarter of a year. That doesn’t seem insignificant.”

Those same wide eyes have begun twitching. “Riiight.” He follows this with a very long sip of water. “It’s really no trouble, though. I can sleep at the studio. There’s a couch and a bathroom there and everything.”

It definitely doesn’t seem like it’s no trouble. Soonyoung looks like he’d rather remove all of his teeth with very dull tools, and even if this was his (admittedly catastrophic) error, it doesn’t feel right putting him out of his own home—especially to a place where having a couch and a bathroom are considered an upside. Does the bathroom even have a shower? How would he cook? Is any of his stuff there? God, you can’t do that to someone.

So it’s with a little caution, a lot of stupidity, and an ill-advised desire to be more spontaneous and free-spirited as if you’re a character in an Elizabeth Gilbert novel that you ask, “Is it weird for you if you just… stay?”

For all of Soonyoung’s mismanagement, it’s clear he doesn’t want to inconvenience you further or make you uncomfortable. He’s insistent that he’ll leave, insistent that it really is no trouble and it’s the least he can do for fucking up the listing, and insistent that if you just give him some time to pack some clothes, he’ll be out of your hair in no more than thirty minutes. With a sigh, you go through your questions again.

Does the bathroom have a shower? No, but—

How would you cook? Maybe I could come over once a week to meal prep, if you wouldn’t mind? There’s a microwave, at least.

Is any of your stuff there? Like, an old pair of sneakers. And maybe a musty sweatshirt.

By the time you ask your follow-up questions, both of you know he isn’t going anywhere, and perhaps if he’d confirmed that you’re one-hundred-percent okay with this nineteen times instead of twenty you wouldn’t have gone for it, but he does so you do.

“I really don’t have to—” You wave him off. Ask him if there are any house rules he’d like you to abide by aside from the obvious. When he sends you a questioning look, you admit you’ve never been anyone’s roommate before. “Oh,” he responds. Takes a second to think. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I keep weird hours. Like, I have my regular jobs, but sometimes I’ll go to the studio if I’m restless or want to work on something, so I guess me going in and out in the middle of the night is something to be aware of. I’ll make sure to be quiet, though.”

“Is it like a regular nine-to-five? I don’t want to disturb you, either.”

Soonyoung screws up his face. “God, no. I—wow, I just realized you have no idea what I’m talking about. I run a dance studio for the local kids. Most of them take summers off to go on vacations or whatever, so once school’s out we only open two or three days a week, depending on how many of them sign up. This year there weren't many, so we decided on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And your other job?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, that one’s kind of embarrassing? I… work at the waterpark next door. Carat Bay.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

He sighs. Runs his thumb vertically along the length of his glass and collects the condensation. “When I first opened the studio, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be busy all the time, you know? I spent my summers here, so I figured everyone else did, too, and I needed to pick up a second job to cover the studio rent on top of a million bills for both here and there.”

You want to tell him you understand. Want to tell him it isn’t embarrassing to do what you have to do to make ends meet; that, if anything, it’s brave. That you’ve been there (and still are). That you’re a little embarrassed by your job, too. But then he continues. “It probably isn’t embarrassing for the high school and college kids, but I’m almost twenty-nine and I’m operating the splash zone. It definitely feels embarrassing.”

You hum. Look around Soonyoung’s kitchen. From the listing photos, you knew it didn’t look like every other rental beach house, with all the ocean motifs and white wicker furniture and seashells nailed to the wall. It’s not sparkling marble and stainless steel, either, but it’s nicer than your outdated kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay, though. I mean—you’ve got this nice house and a dance studio. That seems pretty good for someone our age.”

Soonyoung laughs, a little shy and self-conscious. “I inherited the house from my grandma. I could never afford anything like this.”

“Mm, no offense, but I put that together pretty much immediately.”

When Soonyoung laughs this time, it’s bright and open, reaches his eyes and brings his entire being to life. The two of you make small talk for a few more minutes until you’re unable to stifle a yawn, and then Soonyoung is up and heading for a cabinet drawer immediately, pulling out a stack of takeout menus and saying to take your pick, dinner’s on him tonight. After you try (and fail) to protest, you ask him what’s good and accept his answer of a taco spot not far, and he puts through the order. Asks if you’ve decided on a bedroom so he can carry your bags, so you choose the streetside one upstairs with the view of the water, and while he’s gone to pick up food, you take a quick shower and unpack.

Minghao [6:22pm]: everything ok? how’s the house? You [6:49pm]: It’s a long story I’m too exhausted to type out rn You [6:49pm]: But I think this is gonna be really good for me 🤞

When you wake up the next morning, you expect it to have followed a night of fitful sleep.

Being in a stranger’s house. Said stranger sleeping only a few feet away, door cracked, his soft snores drifting down the hall. An unfamiliar place. A beach town that, while picturesque and dreamy, seems to also be nocturnal. Once most of the town turned off their lights and locked their doors for the night, it’d taken on a second life—groups of friends walking to and from the bars and clubs, shrieks of laughter and heated arguments, the to-be-expected disregard of the time and basic decency that comes with being immature and on a group trip in your early twenties.

You’re surprised, then, that you feel refreshed when you wake up. That the last thing you remember is your head hitting the pillow. It’s the most restful sleep you’ve had in months, and you roll over to check the time feeling ready to take on the world.

8:37am

Spoiled for and overwhelmed by choice, you take your time getting out of bed and going about your routine. When you slip out of your room to brush your teeth, you notice Soonyoung’s bedroom door is wide open. Even though you’re curious, you don’t (and wouldn’t) peek—instead, you’re distracted by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upstairs.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung greets you. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed and tucked beneath him. “I made coffee if you want some. I also left out the bread. If you wanna let me know what you like, I can go grocery shopping later—”

You smile. “Sure, thanks.” Wander into the kitchen. Fill a mug with coffee, cream, a little sugar. Pop two slices of bread into the toaster and, once they pop back out, spread on a thin layer of butter.

And then you hesitate. Should you eat here? Would it be weird to join Soonyoung in the living room? Would it be rude if you didn’t? With a sigh, you compromise and meet in the middle. Place your plate on the newel cap of the staircase and wrap both hands around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Soonyoung has the television on. You don’t recognize what’s playing, but it seems to be a mid-season rerun of some sitcom—background noise, mostly, which is exactly what it seems to be now.

Neither of you are watching. Soonyoung’s scrolling through his phone and you’re content to stare out the bay window facing the street, watching people pass by on their way to the beach. Large straw hats, colorful umbrellas, excited toddlers waiting for an opening to dart away. The waves still crash. The seagulls still screech. “Do you have to work today?” you ask Soonyoung because you feel like you should make conversation.

“Not today, thankfully,” he answers. He sets his phone down and twists his body so he’s facing you. “Back to the studio tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for the waterpark Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. You’re tempted to ask if he wants to do something together and decide against it, not wanting him to feel obligated. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure you want to hang out, still wrapping your head around the fact that the vacation you spent months idealizing will not come to fruition. Not fully. But there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing a book and sitting on the beach for a few hours.

Long enough to decompress—or start to.

“I’ll probably head to the beach.”

“Cool. Let me give you a beach tag.” What he hands over reminds you of an oversized bread clip: octagonal and neon red, 2025 SEASON printed in the center. You have never seen one of these in your life. “Are these not a thing where you’re from?”

“You have to pay to go on the beach?”

Soonyoung’s nose twitches as he bites back a laugh and nods. Explains that the money’s used to maintain the beach and the restrooms and pay the lifeguards and a whole bunch of other things. “Supposedly,” he tacks on conspiratorially.

“Did the mayor get a brand new Porsche?”

“I don’t even know who the mayor is.”

An hour later, after you changed and decided on a book, and Soonyoung not only gave you a beach pass but also his favorite chair (one of the nice ones that recline and have a drink holder) and his phone number (under the guise of you sending him your grocery list, to which you inexplicably offered to just go with him instead), you have to admit the beaches are impeccably maintained.

Touché, beach pass.

With your toes dug into the warm sand, you get through half of your book. Spend the rest of the time dozing off in Soonyoung’s chair, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythm of the waves crashing and retreating, the conversations of the people around you that becomes a singular thrum, the shrill sound of the lifeguard’s whistle that jolts you awake every time someone goes out too far.

Soonyoung texts you around three, asking if you still want to go to the store with him. No worries if not, he tacks on, you can just send me your list. So you start packing up what little you brought, thankful your walk back to the house is short. You’re drowsy from the sun, warmed through to your bones, still in awed disbelief that this is what the entirety of your summer is going to consist of. That you won’t have to suffer like the poor kid running the mini golf course, nearly dead from either boredom or a hangover behind the ticket window. That your whims will be able to come and go like the tide.

You rinse the sand from your feet at the spigot in the backyard. Return Soonyoung’s chair to where he’d grabbed it from. Leave your sandals by the back door and do a final shake of your bag to get rid of anything that might track into the house. Now that you have the right code (0-5-2-6; Soonyoung had mistyped it in his original message), you let yourself in, surprised to find him bent over the kitchen table with an extremely long grocery list in front of him.

“Lucy, I’m home,” you joke.

He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “How was the beach?” he asks, eyes returning to his list.

“Beach-y keen.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that’s long enough to have your cheeks warming from embarrassment over a very bad dad joke—before Soonyoung lets out a snort of laughter. “Terrible.”

“Definitely not my best,” you concede, mirroring his smile. Even though he can’t see it, you nod at the list. “What are you up to?”

“Grocery list.” He holds it up, unfurling it like a scroll. “Do you think this is enough?”

You move closer, eyes scanning over what he’s written down. Four different types of burgers and soft drinks. Regular and gluten-free bread; milk and non-dairy alternatives. Brown, white, cage-free, organic eggs. Enough snacks to fuel a youth athletic team for at least a month. Pasta, lunch meat with ???? written next to it, cereal, rice. “Are you planning on buying out the store?”

“I—no, I just didn’t know what you like.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing for him to hand you the list. When he does, you flip it over and create separate sections: one for each meal, one for pantry items (staples and snacks), and one for drinks. “Do you usually meal plan?”

Soonyoung’s stare is blank. “No. I just go to the store and buy things I like and try to eat it all before it goes bad.” Thankfully, you’re able to keep your horror to yourself. “You do? You’re that organized?”

“I wouldn’t say organized.” You flip the list back over and put checkmarks next to the things you like. “Do the same thing, and then we can come up with some ideas so we aren’t going rogue and overspending.”

After a lot of back and forth, a little friendly ribbing—“Do you really need four boxes of fruit snacks?” you tease Soonyoung, to which he replies, “Sorry, grandma. Add another box of Fig Newtons to the list instead,” which causes you to promptly cross them off—and even more organization and assigning of duties, the two of you emerge triumphant over the shopping list. If your calculations are correct (which they should be, considering how long you’ve lived alone and have done this exact thing every week), this shop should last roughly two weeks. You also give yourselves two days a week to either order takeout or go to a restaurant, considering Soonyoung’s sporadic work schedule.

As you pile into your car, Soonyoung slides into the passenger seat. Covers his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and rolls the window down. Leans his head back against the seat and sighs, appearing to be the epitome of contentment and inner peace. “Thank god it was you I fucked up the listing for.” He says this like it’s nothing. As if it’s a completely normal thing to say and it doesn’t have you nearly swerving into a telephone pole, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Can you imagine if it was someone as bad as me?”

It’s his words, and not the hours you spent in the sun, that keep you warm through the chilly grocery store aisles.

The first two weeks of your vacation feel well-earned and restorative, with a slight sunburn.

After that, however, everything starts to feel… different. Like you’re living someone else’s life. An alternate reality where you wake up whenever you want to, stroll casually up and down the boardwalk with an iced coffee and no destination in mind; where all those things you’d stressed over months ago are nowhere to be found, dragged out to sea by the current.

It’s a slow, gradual process. A little awkward and jilted at first as you both grow used to one another and figure out what and where the boundaries are. As you’re both determined not to make it weird or overstep.

Nonetheless, the two of you fall into an easy routine. Most of your afternoons are spent at the beach or around town, and on the two days a week Soonyoung is at the dance studio, he always texts you right before his last class to check in about dinner: if you want him to cook, if you want to cook, if you want to go out or order something for delivery. Meals are now eaten on the couch so the two of you can commentate whatever’s on the television.

(Fridays are your favorite. Soonyoung stops at the liquor store on his way home from the waterpark and the two of you get drunk on beer and soju and watch wrestling. You share two styrofoam takeout containers of tacos, and the drunker Soonyoung gets, the more ridiculous his commentary becomes. By the time the six-pack is gone, he’s sideways on the couch, his head nearly in your lap, bowled over from the weight of his laughter.)

A two-week trial period is usually far too short for you to make friends—hell, you didn’t even talk to Minghao until you’d run into him at the coffee machine every morning for three straight months—but Soonyoung is easy to get along with. To livewith. He’s easy to like. So you’re not shocked when you reach the three-week mark and all those inhibitions seem to disappear. When he appears in the doorway of your bedroom and asks if you wanna swing by the waterpark later that afternoon and keep him company.

“It’s so boring,” he whines. “I just sit there and make sure people don’t pee or drown, which is nearly impossible, anyway. It’s a giant bucket that dumps water on you—how could someone drown.”

You laugh to yourself, thankful your back is turned to him. You’ve been trying to decide between the neon green bikini and the one-piece with the cut-out just below your chest for a good fifteen minutes and aren’t any closer to a decision. “An adult human can drown in as little as two inches of water, you know.”

“Yeah, if they’re an idiot, maybe,” Soonyoung fires back. “Wear the green one. That color will look really good on you. And then come to the waterpark. I’ll give you a free pass.”

When you turn to face him, he quickly pulls out all the stops: truly pathetic puppy dog eyes, plush bottom lip pushed out, hands clasped together like he’s about to start begging. Before this exact moment, you would’ve said your resolve was made of steel, that you were not a person susceptible to a grown man’s pouting, but you cave in a concerningly short amount of time. Huff, try to act like you’re very displeased by this turn of events, and say, “Fine, but this is a family establishment so I’m wearing the one-piece. You only said the bikini because you’re a pervert.”

He’s torn between defending himself and letting out a triumphant hurrah before settling on both. “Hey, I’m not denying it,” he says casually. “You’ll really come, though?”

You shrug. “Sure, so long as you leave me alone sometimes so I can read my book.”

Cue the triumphant hurrah. “Yes! Okay, I can do that. I’ll see if there are any cabanas open and reserve one for you.”

“Wow, I even get my own cabana boy?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway to his room. “And you called me a pervert,” he calls over his shoulder.

Well, if he didn’t bother denying it, you aren’t going to, either.

—

Not only is the heat relentless, the noise does not stop.

Luckily the first issue is largely solved by the cabana Soonyoung was able to nab you. It isn’t all that large, only enough space for two lounge chairs, and to your dismay there are no men in tiny swimsuits holding trays of colorful drinks with little umbrellas waiting for you to beckon them over, but at least it blocks out the sun. Shields you from the worst of it. There’s less to be done about the heat, but once the humidity becomes too stifling you wander over to Soonyoung—easily identifiable in his garish yellow shorts and matching visor—and wait for him to blow his whistle, alerting everyone to the giant bucket of water about to be dumped on them.

“Nice legs,” you tease, wolf-whistling as you approach.

Soonyoung pretends to be scandalized. Gasps. Twists sideways as if he’s trying to hide his skin from your lustful gaze. “In front of the children?” he accuses.

No kids are paying attention to your conversation when they’re about to get drenched, but you play along anyway, sliding your sunglasses down your nose. “Can’t help it. Those tiny little shorts and your pale thighs really get me going.” He scowls, pulling said shorts further down said thighs to hide the discrepancy in skin tone. “God, it’s loud here,” you change the subject, taking pity on him. “This is what you put up with the entire summer?”

“Just wait—it’ll get worse in a second.”

He’s right, unfortunately. From the second the bucket begins to tip and for at least three full minutes after it unleashes its gallons of water, all you hear is screaming. High-pitched, manic screaming loud enough to make your ears bleed, but the water is cold and you’re thankful for the reprieve from the heat, even if it doesn't last long before it evaporates.

“Ah, gotta love it,” he deadpans. “Only twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds until the next one.”

You snort. Ask him if he wants anything from the snack bar because you need a drink—a very cold, very refreshing drink. All he requests is a bottle of water. Not a bad idea, considering you’re probably dangerously dehydrated from how much you’ve sweat, but you change your mind as soon as you reach the counter. You hear a chorus of angels. It feels like the light of divinity itself shines a spotlight on the part of the menu advertising non-alcoholic piña colada slushies.

You promptly order two—and a water.

When the kid behind the counter hands over your order, you can’t help the beaming smile that forms on your face, but it’s short-lived. Yes, your drinks come with colorful umbrellas and are topped with cherries, and Soonyoung’s water comes straight from a cooler, dripping ice-cold condensation all over your hand and the warped wood top of the counter, but it’s hard to feel victorious when the kid who hands them to you looks like he’s going to keel over and die from heat stroke.

“I—thanks,” you mutter, taking in his flushed cheeks and the hair adhered to his forehead with sweat. You stuff a few bills in the tip jar. “Sorry you have to work here.”

You’re surprised to find Soonyoung in one of your cabana chairs when you return. His visor is pulled over his eyes, his energy completely boneless, and if you weren’t in this weird limbo of maybe-friends you’d probably tease him a little. Call him Sleeping Beauty or flick some of the cold water on your hands at him.

Instead, you place all three drinks on the small, rickety table in between the chairs. “Special delivery.”

Soonyoung lifts his visor. Laughs softly when he sees what you’ve ordered. Asks, “Is one of those for me?” and reaches for one regardless of what your answer is.

“It”—you begin to answer, watching as he dangles a cherry by the stem—“wasn’t,” you finish after he pops it into his mouth.

“But I’m on break.” He pouts. “And it’s so hot outside and this drink is so cold.” He sticks the straw in his mouth and has to speak around it. “And if Chan’s running the snack bar today I bet he put alcohol in this.” He takes a sip. “No booze. Coward.”

“Do you often drink on company time? Also, that kid at the snack bar looked about ten minutes from death. Someone should probably check on him.”

Soonyoung waves you away. “I’ll do it after I clock back in.”

“When is that? Rigor mortis might set in by then.”

“An hour. Rigor mortis is when they go all stiff, right?” You hum in agreement. “Easier to move, then.” He sucks down the rest of the slushie, finishing with a loud slurp that draws some attention your way, finishing with an exaggerated ahh. “Wow, that was really good. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes?”

You scoff. Tuck your legs beneath you and reach for your book. “Don’t you have your phone? Set an alarm.”

“Mm, don’t want to. What are you reading?”

You tell him the title. Explain that you’d picked it up for cheap in a secondhand shop in town while you were wandering around one afternoon just because you’d liked the cover. “It’s okay,” you say. “It’s not really grabbing me, but it’s well-written and not very long so it could be worse.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“Try to.” Realizing this is not a very satisfactory response, you add, “I’ve tried to read at least three books a month since I graduated college.”

“I’m not good at math, but that seems like a lot of books.”

You laugh. “I don’t always manage it, to be fair. I’m happy with thirty books a year.”

“I haven’t read one book a year in maybe… ever. Do you have a book job?”

The question is asked around a yawn, words and inflection steeped in exhaustion, which is just fine by you. Because it’s easier to glance over at him—arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling rhythmically, and towel covering his face to further block the sun—and say, “Okay, old man, nap time for you,” and laugh at his responding middle finger than it is to exhume all that ancient history. Easier than adopting that indifferent affect as you say, “No, no book job, just a desk in an office,” and wondering if your discontent is made of tissue paper. If it’s palpable.

If it is, Soonyoung doesn’t say anything.

So you don’t, either. You stay mum about the lifelong absence of a dream. How there were things you liked but nothing you could envision doing forever. How it made you aimless, drawn to whatever felt easy at the time, content to let the wind pick you up and take you wherever it wanted. How you had to swallow down that small bite of embarrassment every time someone asks what you do for a living or how much you make. That lethal combination of hopelessness, bitterness, and jealousy you feel when it seems like all of your friends, classmates, and old coworkers are lapping you.

Those things don’t matter here, you remind yourself. You focus your attention back on your book and set an alarm so you can wake up Soonyoung.

Minghao wants to visit you.

This, of course, poses a problem. While you’d alluded to it on your first day here, you and Minghao haven’t talked much beyond a few texts every few days, so you never got around to telling him the full story. That the man you thought you were renting an entire house from is still occupying it. That he sleeps a few feet down the hall and cooks meals alongside you. That, even when he’s at work or both of you retire for the night, your phone will light up with messages or DMs from him as he sends memes or links to places around town he thinks you might like—and that you always hope he’ll ask if you want to go together.

There’s no real reason to deny his request. Much to your dismay, Soonyoung doesn’t mind. Seems to light up at the possibility of meeting one of your friends, someone he only knows about from stories and anecdotes and late-night scrolls through your Instagram feed, where you and Minghao have made it a game to tag one another in the ugliest photos either of you have ever taken. He goes into planning mode almost immediately, and if you were less mature you’d probably pout at the way the “you” in his messages becomes “you and Minghao.”

Inexplicably, you care about disappointing Soonyoung far more than you care about disappointing Minghao, so you tell him to call you once he’s done work so the two of you can come up with a plan.

Your phone rings just after seven, screen lighting up with the only normal photo the two of you have ever taken together. It should bring you comfort, the reminder that this is Minghao and he’s your friend and can even look ugly sometimes when he puts effort into it. But he’s also got the demeanor and general vibe of a parent picking you up from the police station. Something about him just exudes disappointment.

You’ll have it in spades soon.

Minghao spends a few minutes catching you up on things back home, tells you about the goings-on at the office: a new girl in his department he suspects might be a nepotism hire, the creepy IT guy you’ve all complained about for months finally getting fired, a day last week the plumbing broke and everyone got sent home early. “I’m ready for a vacation,” he sighs into the phone.

You grimace, thankful Soonyoung isn’t around to watch this trainwreck occur in real time. It’s another late night for him at the studio as he prepares for the mid-summer recital, still not fully satisfied with the choreography. He’d done the same two days ago and didn’t come home until nearly midnight.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You sigh. Tell yourself it’s better to just rip off the bandage and not prolong it anymore, but you can hear Minghao in your head saying I told you so and it gives you agita. Makes your palms sweaty. You cannot, in good conscience, allow yourself to be patronized by someone younger than you.

“Yeah, so, about that…”

Just as you expected, Minghao is not particularly gentle in his response. “A scam is a scam,” he says. “Do you have any idea how stupid it was to stay there? You don’t know that guy! He could be a serial killer for all you know, or worse—a furry.”

“I’ll be surprised if he’s a furry,” you retort, picking at a bit of pilled fabric on the couch. “But also, it wasn’t entirely a scam, he just messed up the listing. It’s not like I got here and the house didn’t exist and some dude claiming to be a prince was laughing all the way to the bank with my money.”

“You’re hopeless.” You can practically hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am not. It’s really nice here, Hao. The town is nice and Soonyoung is nice and he owns a dance studio and works part-time at a waterpark that he gets me into for free sometimes.”

“Is the waterpark nice?”

You hesitate. “I, um—it’s not horrible. Sometimes Chan puts alcohol in the piña colada slushies.”

“That… sounds kind of good, actually. With the little umbrellas?”

“And a cherry,” you confirm.

This, more than anything else, seems to be what seals the decision for him. After confirming for the millionth time that Soonyoung doesn’t mind his company (and that he’s not a serial killer, to which you send him the link to Soonyoung’s Instagram and ask does this look like a serial killer to you? because his most recent post is a photo of him on a giant flamingo floatie in the pool, mouth stained orange from a bag of cheese puffs, to which Minghao reluctantly agrees it does not), he agrees to call out of work and make the drive Friday morning.

Which, of course, is the day the sky decides to crack open.

This is unfortunate for Minghao, who has to make the same hours-long drive you did. This is unfortunate for you, who was looking forward to trying a new brunch cafe on the boardwalk. This is not unfortunate for Soonyoung, who was scheduled from open to close at Carat Bay and now has the day off, which he’s spending preparing for Minghao’s arrival: fridge and pantry restocked, floors vacuumed and mopped, sheets washed and dried, downstairs bathroom stocked with fresh towels. Like the grocery shopping and cooking, you and Soonyoung had worked out a system early on, so on any other day all of this is stuff you’d be helping out with.

Except Xu Minghao must’ve either been a member of a spy network or a teenage girl in a past life.

Normally it’s to your benefit that Minghao can find anything on the internet. Unlike you, he’s not prone to or all that interested in gossip (so he says), but he’s receptive when you assign him a task, and over the time you’ve known each other, the partnership has served you well. Usually it’s just mundane work gossip: who’s sleeping together, who’s on job-hunting sites begging for leads, who got embarrassingly, shit-faced drunk over the weekend and overshared in their Instagram stories. Usually it doesn’t affect you all that much, forgotten soon after in the way mundane work gossip always is.

This time, however.

Although sending him Soonyoung’s Instagram had alleviated his fears that you’re shacking up with a serial killer, it revealed something far worse: you’re shacking up with a Gemini.

Again—not usually a problem, considering astrology isn’t really your thing. You’d be hard-pressed to differentiate a Gemini from a Cancer or whatever else, so when Minghao tells you this it’s met with a hum of acknowledgment and nothing else. It was only once he asked, “Did you guys do anything for his birthday?” that it all started to sink in and panic gripped at you.

Minghao can find anything on the internet because he doesn’t stop at the surface-level stuff. You’d sent him Soonyoung’s Instagram and he didn’t just scroll through the first few posts, he scrolled years back, almost to the beginning, and that’s where he’d found the post: Soonyoung surrounded by friends, their arms slung over his shoulders while he held a cake, two lit number candles perched on top. 25!!!! the caption read.

It was posted on June 15th.

Which was last Sunday. Nearly a week ago. Soonyoung hadn’t said anything, had gone about his day as usual—coffee and a breakfast sandwich eaten at the two-seater table on the front porch before he showered and got ready for work, and even after he got home and the two of you shared a pizza and watched baseball, he never mentioned it.

Hence why you aren’t helping Soonyoung with the cleaning. You’re at the grocery store ordering a birthday cake because if there’s one thing you cannot do it’s bake, even when it’s box mix and prepackaged frosting (and Soonyoung deserves a cake that’s both edible and stays upright). You move to the aisle with the party supplies and curse the lack of options.

A children’s cartoon character or plain red, edges yellowed from age. Tough choice.

You grab a few other things and stand in line to check out, checking your phone religiously. You’d gotten out of the house under the guise of a pilates class you “couldn’t cancel,” so anything longer than an hour will start looking suspicious, but the required 24-hour notice from the bakery had posed a problem. Soonyoung is scheduled at the waterpark tomorrow, and you can’t turn it down because he was kind enough to get you and Minghao another cabana (and Minghao really wants one of those slushies), and then he’s back at the studio on Sunday to put the finishing touches on the recital.

So, here you are. Arms full of items you can let overheat in the trunk of your car and a receipt for a small marble sheet cake, a request for Happy Birthday, Soonyoung! to be written on top in blue frosting, surrounded by confetti sprinkles.

—

Soonyoung and Minghao get on like a house on fire.

You aren’t surprised by this, considering you don’t think Soonyoung has ever met a stranger. He’s good at it—the small talk, navigating those awkward moments, making people feel comfortable. Minghao has only been in the house twenty minutes before he’s giggling and entirely charmed, made to feel right at home even though he’s dripping rainwater all over the freshly-mopped floors. Seems to forget he was supposed to be angry that the rain had ruined one day of his vacation.

Soonyoung insists on carrying on the Friday tradition of takeout, alcohol, and wrestling, which is not something Minghao would watch without outside influence. But he fits in seamlessly. Falls into step with Soonyoung’s chaos, taking over his ridiculous commentary when Soonyoung’s either too drunk or laughing too hard to finish his sentences. Polishes off two orders of tacos on his own. Assumes bartender duties and mixes your drinks to questionable ratios, but perfection nonetheless.

Not to mention he out-drinks both of you. Soonyoung is worse off, retiring to bed just after eleven, groaning about his head and worrying about how he’s going to get up for work as he ascends the stairs. Minghao laughs, watching him fondly. You get the impression there’s a lot he wants to say—and maybe he would if you weren’t seeing three of him—but as it stands he cleans up the living room and asks if you want a glass of water.

“No, I’m okay,” you answer. “I think.”

Still, you aren’t surprised to find water and painkillers on your nightstand when you wake up. Luckily you don’t need them, spared from the torture of spending hours at a waterpark with shrieking children with a hangover, so you send a double-text to Soonyoung—

You [9:37am]: Are you alive? You [9:37am]: Hao left me some water and painkillers if you need them

—to which he simply replies:

Soonyoung [9:50am]: p lease

With a laugh, you throw the duvet off of your legs and pad down the hall. Knock quietly on Soonyoung’s bedroom door and laugh again at the pitiful come in you receive in response. And he does look pitiful. When you walk in, he pops out from under the covers with dandelion hair, face puffy from the alcohol, cheeks ruddy. What little sleep he got must not have been great—he looks exhausted, so you move Minghao’s gifts to Soonyoung’s nightstand, whisper a little fighting!, and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee.

Not long after, Soonyoung makes his way downstairs and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. Face-plants onto the table and groans into the wood. Without a word, you grab the bread from the pantry and pop a few slices into the toaster, sliding them onto a plate and serving them to him plain once they’re done.

“This will help with the nausea. Do you think you can stomach coffee?”

He scoffs. “Sure hope so. What’s the point in living if I can’t?”

Minghao emerges halfway through Soonyoung’s third cup, looking fresh and well-rested in a way only the person who drank the most and isn’t suffering a hangover can do. He greets you and Soonyoung with cheerful good mornings and questions about how you slept and how you’re feeling. “Not as bad as him,” you answer, jerking a thumb in Soonyoung’s direction, who gives you both the finger before returning to his face-first position on the table.

Your friend looks at the plate of crumbs and the mug of coffee. He sends you a look that’s easier not to look at or acknowledge.

—

Somehow, Minghao is able to talk you into sharing a two-person tube and joining him on all of Carat Bay’s waterslides.

This is horrifying for many reasons (the height of the slides, seeing Minghao’s bare feet), but it also proves useful. At the top of the highest slide, just as you fit yourself in the front of the tube and screech when Minghao wiggles his painted toes at you, the worker responsible for pushing you towards your certain death asks, “Oh shit, aren’t you the one staying with Soonyoung?”

“I—yes.” You glance at his nametag. Mingyu, it says, and you think you vaguely recognize him from Soonyoung’s Instagram. Horrifying again, because he’s somehow even more attractive in real life and you’re squished into a two-person innertube with Minghao and his painted toes, but he’s friendly and charming and talks at you like you’re old friends.

“That’s cool,” he says, ignoring the impatient discontent and creative insults from the line of children behind you. “Soonyoung said he had someone staying with him and that you’d been here a few times, but I’m always stuck up here.” A child throws a tiny flip-flop at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. “Wow,” he deadpans, “lucky me.”

In an attempt to stifle his laughter, Minghao asks what time he gets done, telling him about the belated birthday party the two of you have schemed to surprise him with. Fuck me, you think, watching as Mingyu somehow becomes even more attractive as his eyes light up. Not only is he done two hours before Soonyoung, he’s going to invite more of his friends, too. They’ll pick up more food and more snacks and more alcohol. All you and Minghao have to do is pick up the cake and decorate, which last night’s drinking provides a convenient excuse for.

During Soonyoung’s break—which he once again spends napping on a lounge chair under the cabana—Minghao says the two of you will probably head back to the house soon. “I think the heat’s making her hangover worse,” he says, injecting a convincing amount of sympathy into his tone.

Just as you expected, Soonyoung buys it. Finishes up his break with a groan and says he’ll text you when he’s done to check in about dinner, and then there’s nothing but the thwack-thwack-thwack of his slides as he returns to his post at the splash zone.

Two and a half hours to go.

Minghao stays behind to start on the decorations while you go pick up the cake. It turns out better (and bigger) than you expected, and you thank the bakery profusely as you rush back toward the exit. Back at the house, streamers and balloons line the staircase bannister and hang from the light fixtures; a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner stretches across the doorway leading into the kitchen; the plates and napkins are both set out, sharing the same cartoon tiger.

Luckily, it gives you both enough time to shower and look presentable before everyone else arrives.

True to his word, Mingyu knocks on the door with his hands full: a case of beer, a pile of pizza boxes, bags of chips in various flavors. Behind him stands a group of people, only one of whom you recognize. Chan, alcoholic slushie barista extraordinaire, greets you with a wave and a large smile. You are wholly unsurprised to see he brought soju.

The next hour is met with more names and faces than you’ll ever be able to remember. Friends of Soonyoung’s, coworkers from Carat Bay, coworkers from the dance studio—all of them kind, making you and Minghao feel welcome and included. They shout in excitement when Soonyoung texts you saying he’s done work. Compliment your quick thinking when he asks what you and Minghao want to do for dinner and you tell him Minghao insists on cooking, and to just shoot you a text when he’s on his way back so he can put it in the oven. When that text comes through, they all hide in the kitchen out of sight and hold their breath, anticipating and waiting, the occasional giggle sneaking through.

You drape yourself across the couch. Minghao stays in the kitchen and, once you call out that the birthday boy is coming up the drive, pretends to chop vegetables to truly sell it.

And when Soonyoung comes through the door, looking just as exhausted as he had this morning and slightly more sunburnt, you almost feel guilty. Almost think he won’t be in the mood to host. Almost think you’ve made a horrible mistake. He asks, “Do you know what he’s making?” to which you shake your head.

“No idea. He won’t tell me—says it’s a surprise,” you respond, thankful your voice and expression both stay steady and neutral.

Soonyoung drops his bag at the door. “Hm. I’ll see if I can get it out of him,” he says, winking when he catches your eye, like it’s you and him against Minghao; like he’s solving this manufactured mystery for your benefit.

Then he walks into the kitchen.

There’s the expected shouts of SURPRISE!

And then there’s a few seconds of silence.

“What the fuck,” comes Soonyoung’s eventual response. You sidle up alongside him, laughing when he turns to look at you with a stunned expression. “What the fuck?” he repeats, quieter this time, meant only for you.

“Happy birthday.” You reach up to playfully pat his cheek. “Belatedly, anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cheeks go red. As he opens his mouth to answer, sheepish words biting at the back of his teeth, one of his friends interrupts. Slaps him on the back and puts a drink in his hand. Laughs and gives him shit, asking how he didn’t notice all the decorations.

Soonyoung steals a final glance in your direction as he’s pulled away.

Everyone eats, drinks, and laughs. You cut the cake before Soonyoung’s face can wind up in it, only for someone to grab a slice and smash it in his face anyway. Uproarious laughter follows. Someone snaps a picture: first, a close-up of Soonyoung’s face, covered in cake crumbs and enough frosting to stain his skin; then, a second photo of him washing it off in the sink, entire head stuck under the faucet.

It really shouldn’t strike you someplace deep. The memory should be enough, but you find yourself asking, “Do you guys want me to take a picture of all of you?” so you have something to remember it by, too, even if you’re behind the camera.

Minghao must notice, because he offers to take it instead, taking your phone from you and gesturing for you to join the group. They’ve all got their arms around Soonyoung again but they make room for you. Mingyu, heads taller than everyone, moves from Soonyoung’s right and to the back.

“Are you—is it on a timer?” Minghao shakes his head, clearly confused. “Well, put it on a timer and get over here.”

“Me?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking to? Come on, it’s my birthday and you’re my friend, so get in the picture.” He coughs. “Please.”

Minghao laughs, but you can tell from the heat in his cheeks that he’s a little caught off-guard at Soonyoung wanting him in the picture, at declaring him his friend, so he fumbles with your phone. Can’t figure out how to set the timer. No one helps, of course—they give him shit and playfully boo him, flustering him more. Once he does figure it out, he sets the timer to the wrong length so the first few photos are candids, Minghao nothing but a streak across the frame. This earns him another round of boos that render him entirely useless, have him squatting beneath the weight of his laughter, but then he sets it correctly, thirty seconds, and there’s a smile on every single person’s face when you look at it later.

After that, it’s party time—within reason.

Someone connects to the small speaker in the living room and shuffles a playlist, upbeat with a low, thrumming bassline, perfect for a party. Minghao gets roped into a conversation with two people from Soonyoung’s studio, exchanging socials and numbers. Someone has left a pan of weed brownies on top of the stove, though no one takes credit for them.

That’s how Soonyoung approaches you some thirty minutes later, half of a brownie stuck between his teeth and chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hellooo,” he greets you, each letter slurring together, eyes bloodshot. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” you answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. D’you want the other half of this? I don’t think I should eat the whole thing.” Soonyoung offers the brownie to you, bottom lip slightly pouted. “I’m not a lightweight or anything,” he adds, as if it’s of the utmost importance to squash any thought you might’ve had about him being one. “And I didn’t stick the whole thing in my mouth. I broke it in half before I ate it, so there’s no spit on it.”

With a huff of laughter, you take the brownie from him and place it on a plate on the counter behind you. You also grab a napkin, turning to Soonyoung with what you intend to be stern, furrowed brows until he goes a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh. “Why is your mouth always covered in something?”

You reach for him; he comes willingly and immediately.

“Ooh, are you gonna clean me up?” he quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows. He winds up just squinting and un-squinting his eyes, heavy-lidded and getting redder by the second.

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your lips. Place your hand on his cheek to steady him, grounded by the warmth and softness of his skin. Soonyoung sucks in a breath when you touch him. Covers your hand with his own. Stares at you so intently you forget why you’re touching him at all, that there’s a party raging around you; forget that you’re surrounded by all of Soonyoung’s friends and their curious glances. You forget what the napkin in your hand is for, uselessly pinched between your fingers.

Everything narrows to the size of a pinhead. Soonyoung is all that exists in this moment, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Until now, you thought the banter had just been banter—innocent and fun but ultimately superficial. Until now, you could brush off his coy remarks and blame it on proximity and Soonyoung’s ability to flirt with a lamppost if he thought it’d flirt back. Until now, you thought the next two and a half months would be easy; that you’d be able to compartmentalize your attraction to him.

Because this isn’t about that.

You’d needed to get away—from your job, your apartment, your life. All of it. Needed a break from the constant what-ifs and self-doubt and the nasty, unrelenting feeling that you aren’t doing enough, aren’t living up to your potential. That what you are doing is walking down a dead-end street and foolishly trying to find an exit point. You needed to try to outrun everything you’ve pushed aside, knowing it’s long overdue for it to catch up.

You don’t want Soonyoung to be one of those things. Don’t want him added to your list of what-ifs, not realizing it’s already too late for that.

So, just for a moment, you let yourself indulge. You press the napkin to the corner of his mouth and wonder how it’d feel if it were your lips instead, how he’d react, what noises he’d make. If he’d gasp in surprise or suck in another breath through his teeth. If he’d push you away or move his hands to your hips to pull you closer. If he’d let you take your time and do what you wanted or if he’d take control. If everyone around you would be surprised or if they’d think oh, of course.

You don’t find out the answer to any of those questions.

Instead, you clean the stubborn chocolate from the corners of his mouth without a word. Your touch is far more tender and delicate than you think this moment calls for, but if Soonyoung agrees he doesn’t mention it. Keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes tracing every movement. His intensity surprises you, having been outshadowed by his larger-than-life personality, the way he makes you laugh without having to try. But the intensity of the moment surprises you, too, how it all feels amplified: how you can hear every hitch of his breath, even over the noise of the party; how you can not only feel the warmth of it on your skin, but also the tension. How it feels like a massive, tangible thing in the center of your chest.

“All done,” you manage to say, coughing to clear your throat, dry from nerves and the rest of the chaos swirling around in your head.

Soonyoung smiles. Sends a wink over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, and you feel his absence immediately and immensely.

Minghao calls you over and reintroduces you to the people he’s been talking to. They’re kind and funny and gracious with their time. Junhui tells you all about how he and Soonyoung met, about his time at his studio. Tells you all about the kids they teach and how much they love Soonyoung. All the gifts they make for him and how they watch him dance with wide, starry eyes, trying to replicate everything he does.

Which is exactly what you find yourself trying to do later on.

Soonyoung had found you in a half-hearted conversation with Chan and Mingyu and dragged you to the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, cackling brightly when you looked at him, bewildered, and said you didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. C’mon, it’s easy.”

Dancing with someone who does it for a living is not easy, but Soonyoung is a good teacher, full of praise and laughter and gentle corrections. It’s all in good fun, anyway, and that’s exactly how he makes it feel as he jokingly shakes his ass and twerks on his friends; as the room goes blurry when he takes your hand and twirls you around. And when the song switches to something slower, headier, more sensual, there’s an immediate spike of panic that Soonyoung snuffs out—he puts distance between the two of you but stays in your orbit, hovering, waiting for you to call the shots.

You know he’ll back off if you want him to. You know he’ll take it in stride and not allow things to get awkward. You also know this decision isn’t life or death, that this can just be harmless fun you blame on the alcohol and weed in the light of day when the sheepishness creeps in. And you have to admit that sounds enticing, because the two poles of your body are pulling you in opposite directions, warring with one another. Try as it might, your brain—with all its logic and reminders for you to use some common sense—is no match for the heat simmering beneath your skin.

It’s a split-second decision, you pulling him back in, letting him fit his hands to the curve of your waist, your eyes fluttering shut at the body heat that seeps into your skin. You watch as the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth lift infinitesimally before he straightens them again, like he doesn’t want to look cocky, doesn’t want this to look like a foregone conclusion, but you like it on him. He wears it well, and you’re taken by it in the same way you’d been taken by his intensity.

You know there are eyes on you—his friends’, Minghao’s—but you can’t find it in you to care. Every time Soonyoung touches you, it feels like you’re the only people left on earth, like you’re swimming through molasses, weighed down by the intoxication of it, the yearning, the need for more.

His hands move to your hips, his lips to just beneath your ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, words spoken so quietly against your skin you feel them more than you can hear them.

You nod. Still have no clue what you’re doing, feel awkward and too big in your own body, but you remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay to just enjoy the way Soonyoung is touching you. The way he moves his body, perfectly in sync with the beat of the song, purposeful and precise. The proximity to and closeness of another person.

It’s the same later on, long after all of Soonyoung’s friends have left. Only you and Soonyoung are left at the house, your crossfades providing a convenient excuse to stay behind. No one says anything, but you catch the look Minghao sends you on his way out the door, having accepted an invitation from Jun and Mingyu to check out some new club, wanting to make the most of his last full day in town—it’s discreet and sly, but it also says I hope you know what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it all night.

You don’t.

You know it just as well as Minghao does, so you start cleaning up the kitchen to give yourself something else to focus on. Plates, cups, and napkins in the trash. Leftovers in the fridge or pantry. Icing wiped off the floor and counters. A massive garbage bag tied up and placed next to the back door to take outside. Time alone, room to breathe. Being around Soonyoung is starting to feel like the two magnets of your head and heart are repelling.

“Leave that for tomorrow.”

You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “I’m almost done,” you gently argue. “Besides, it is tomorrow. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Soonyoung just laughs, nodding his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

“Soonyoung, there’s still food everywhere, you’ll get bugs—”

“Do I have to drag you out there myself?”

He doesn’t, though you don’t think you’d be upset if he did. “Fine. At least take the trash out with you,” you compromise.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly isn’t for Soonyoung to lay on his back in the middle of the yard. No blanket, no towel—even if it’s mostly dried out from the previous day’s storm, you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to take the risk, but Soonyoung has no such reservations. He stretches out like he’s making a snow angel before he tucks his hands behind his head and sighs in content, though you’re not sure why. There’s far too much light pollution this close to the boardwalk to see anything in the sky, not to mention the noise.

Still, you either have to join him or stay standing and look like an idiot.

So you sit down beside him, arms stretched out behind you, your knee knocking into Soonyoung’s elbow. He rolls his head to the side and smiles, and you feel it behind your ribcage, sharp and hot like fireworks. “How did you know?” he asks. “About my birthday.”

Any other time you’d crack a joke, say something cheesy like ah, I have my ways, or that you’d paid an Etsy witch to find out, but in the middle of the night, sitting side-by-side in Soonyoung’s small, dewy strip of grass, it doesn’t feel right. Feels like a moment that requires sincerity. “It was Minghao, actually,” you admit. “He was there when I first saw the rental listing and told me it was a scam because of how cheap it was, so ever since then he’d sort of been convinced you were a serial killer or something. I had to come clean about us rooming together when he asked to visit and that only convinced him more.”

Soonyoung groans. “Damn. I wanna laugh but it’s not funny. Is it funny? He still came here after all that?”

“Well, luckily I’d already been to the waterpark with you by then and watched you nearly pass out when that kid fell and scraped her knee, so I knew there was no way you could kill someone—”

“Hey!”

“—and I sent him your Instagram. We both decided that, aside from the can’t handle blood thing, a serial killer probably wouldn’t post a picture of themselves with cheese dust all over their mouth.”

His jaw drops slightly. Looks like he wants to—and thinks he should—be offended before he snaps it shut and thinks it over. “Mm, that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, so. As one does, he basically stalked your account until he saw one of your birthday posts from years ago and asked if we’d done anything fun for it this year, and I had to say no because someone didn’t tell me.”

Sheepish, Soonyoung apologizes. Says he didn’t have plans anyway and didn’t want you to feel obligated or make things weird. “It’d only been two weeks.” And when you move to protest, he rolls onto his side, head propped up by his elbow, and says, “I know now it was silly, and I’m still a little blown away the two of you threw all of this together. I—it just means a lot, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you and your friends had a good time.”

“I haven’t had a bad one since you got here.” Such a simple statement, but the honesty in his words steals the breath from your lungs. “I’d been having… a bad time. Before you got here. So yeah, it means a lot that you’d go through the trouble.”

It wasn’t any trouble, you want to say. Want to refute the notion that doing something nice, especially for him, was a bother, something only done out of a sense of obligation. Want to tell him you’ve been having a hard time, too, and doing something like this, celebrating someone else, helped ease that perpetual grief even a little bit. That feeling someone’s hands on you in the way his had been—selfish, wanting, longing—was a welcomed change from the hands clutching at your own, rubbing at your back, accompanied by waterlogged, sympathetic words. Apologies that only made you feel worse.

You want to tell him it was nice to be desired instead of pitied.

Instead, you say, “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, too,” because the rest feels too honest. More words not meant for this moment.

And it seems you chose correctly, because Soonyoung’s brows quirk upwards. “Really?” he asks.

You nod. “I don’t want to dump on you, but my grandmother passed away last year. I used all of my PTO and the last of my inheritance to book the rental. It just sort of… felt like everything was starting to catch up with me, you know? The grief, the insecurities I’m feeling about my job. I needed to get away.”

Soonyoung frowns, and you brace yourself for more of the usual—I’m so sorry for your loss and other such sentiments you wish you could feel thankful for and don’t—but, as usual, he finds a way to surprise you. “Damn,” he mutters, sounding entirely convincing as he whistles, “I feel like I should give you a refund now. I scammed you out of your inheritance.”

A bubble of shocked laughter erupts from you and spreads to Soonyoung. Soon, both of you have dissolved into breathless, belly-aching laughter, trying desperately to shush one another so you don’t disturb the neighbors. And maybe you hadn’t been able to say all those other things, but this you are:

“Don’t you dare. I’d pay it every single time, a million times over.”

July arrives before you know it.

After Soonyoung’s party, things largely go back to normal. Minghao stays in touch, not only with you and Soonyoung, but also Junhui. Like clockwork, he texts you often for “updates.” He’s not interested in what books you’ve read or how many hours of sun you’ve soaked up at the beach. No, all he cares about are any updates in your relationship with Soonyoung—of which there have been none, so these days, understandably, your conversations don’t last all that long.

Additionally, you see Chan and Mingyu more often. Sometimes, when their shifts end at the same time, they swing by the house after work and join you for dinner… and shenanigans. A random Tuesday sees the four of you having a water balloon fight in the backyard. Soonyoung calls dibs on Mingyu, thinking his height will afford them some sort of advantage, but he underestimates Chan’s dodge and weave and that Mingyu’s height is nothing more than a giant target. Another weeknight has all of you nearly coming to blows over a game of poker.

Occasionally, on days they don't work, they join you at the beach. They rope you into boogie boarding and volleyball matches; they nap or mess around in the water while you read. Sometimes Soonyoung will stay behind and pester you with questions: what you’re reading, what it’s about, whether or not you like it, isn’t that similar to that one you read last week, what you think is going to happen.

And then Soonyoung gets a rare weekend off.

Friday, too, which is spent like all the previous ones. Takeout, cheap beer, watching wrestling and adopting silly voices. Even with all the time in the world, it’s not something either of you are willing to give up.

Saturday, though—

Instead of preparing for another hot, sticky afternoon at Carat Bay, Soonyoung appears in the doorway of your bedroom not long after noon. He’s still in his pajamas—nothing but a pair of black briefs you’re sure were created with the sole intent of torturing you—and his hair sticks up at odd angles. But he looks good. Looks like temptation itself with his golden skin, honeyed from the sun; the six pack of abs peeking out from beneath the waistband; his voice, deep and husky from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You try to swallow, not at all surprised to find your mouth has gone dry. “Sleep alright?”

Soonyoung hums. Crosses one arm across his body to scratch at his collar bone, which does nothing at all to alleviate your suffering. “You got anything on the agenda for today?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. “They’re doing fireworks on the beach tonight, if you wanna check it out? We can make a day of it and do the whole boardwalk thing.”

“Oh,” you manage to choke out. “Sure. That sounds fun.”

His responding smile is another arrow to your chest. “Cool. You’re good with rides, right? Or are you gonna puke on me if I drag you on a rollercoaster?”

I might puke on you if you don’t put a shirt on, you think. “No, I’m good,” you confirm instead. Then you actually give yourself a second to think of something that isn’t Soonyoung and his sculpted, insanity-inducing body and follow up with, “Except maybe that spaceship-looking thing that spins around really fast.”

Rookie mistake: you forget to put the teacups on your no-go list.

After getting your wristbands, it’s the first ride Soonyoung drags you on. “If you’re gonna puke, we might as well get it over with early,” he reasons. You’re too gobsmacked to argue or try to sneak out of line when he isn’t looking, so the next thing you know you’re being ushered into an empty cup by a minimum wage employee entirely indifferent to your plight, all hopes of a last-second escape dashed.

Soonyoung’s sinister grin fills you with dread.

Because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Soonyoung, don’t—”

It’s no use. As soon as the ride starts moving, Soonyoung’s grabbing onto the bar in the center and spinning your teacup as fast as he can. Aside from his wild cackles that slip through, you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own screaming, louder than even the small kids being spun around by their parents. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the safety bar for dear life, filling your thoughts with anything that doesn’t require a barf bag.

(You obviously don’t know in the moment, but later on, Soonyoung digs his phone out of his pocket. Goes into his camera roll and thumbs until he finds what he’s looking for before holding it out to show you. And you’re a little stunned, is the thing, because there you are. Eyes shut, gripping onto the bar just like you remember, but it’s the way you’re smiling that takes you by surprise. You can’t remember the last time you looked so happy. Can’t remember the last time you felt it, either.

“Do you mind if I post it to my story?”

Feels nearly impossible to tear your eyes away from it, but you manage to nod. Say, “Sure, as long as you send it to me first,” and he does.

You [6:28pm]: [Attachment: 1 Image] You [6:28pm]: What do you think this means? Minghao [6:34pm]: that you’re fucked

A fresh wave of nausea hits you, because you don’t need Minghao to tell you that.

You already know.)

Somehow you survive, even though your first steps back on solid ground are a bit shaky. Soonyoung laughs and offers up a half-assed apology you know he doesn’t mean, but he lets you choose the next few rides to make up for it. Chivalrous, sure, but there are so many you don’t know where to begin. Anything upside-down is out of the question for now, given the state of your stomach, so you point at a dilapidated-looking ship and say, “What’s that?” even though it’s self-explanatory.

“Ghost Ship.”

The hesitation in his tone immediately piques your interest. Oh ho ho, you think, smiling to yourself—he should not have spun you dizzy on the teacups. “Oh. Is it scary?”

So subtle you nearly miss it, Soonyoung puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. Stares at the ride as if it offended him personally as he says, “I—no! Not really. No, it’s not.”

“Is it not scary or not really scary?”

“It’s not scary,” he clarifies, lying through his teeth. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Cool, let’s go on it, then.” You start walking towards the ride entrance, pretending not to know he isn’t following. “It’s eight tickets,” you say, keeping up the ruse. Soonyoung still hasn’t followed and your wristbands are loaded with unlimited ride tickets. “Do we have—Soonyoung? What’s wrong?” Checkmate. Soonyoung’s cheeks go pink as he shuffles a few feet closer. “Do you not want to go on it?”

“I do!” he insists. “It’s just—it’s just, uh. Doesn’t that rollercoaster look way more fun? Or… look! The log flume looks fun, too!”

“But then we’ll have to walk around in wet clothes.”

“That’s what the rollercoaster is for.” You stare blankly at him. “You know, for drying. ‘Cause it goes fast.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go on that one,” you say, making sure to pout a little. There’s a very visible war waging inside of him. He either looks like a chicken on the ride or he looks like one by refusing to go on it at all. And that’s nothing a bit of bargaining can’t fix, so you say, “If you’re too scared, I can always hold your hand.”

You expect there to be at least a split-second of hesitation, but Soonyoung just says, “Deal!” and reaches for you. Laces your fingers together and doesn’t let go of you the entire time. Not while you wait in line, not while you’re on the ride (where he does scream his head off and grips your hand so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t cut the blood flow), and not after.

Soonyoung holds your hand as the two of you walk up and down the boards. As you duck into souvenir and t-shirt shops with crude sayings. As your stomach starts to rumble and he asks if you’ve ever had a deep-fried cannoli. As he somehow seems shocked when you say no and offers to buy you one, and when you jokingly ask if he’s trying to kill you, he squeezes your hand and says, “Never,” in a voice so soft it nearly makes you cry.

The only time he lets go is to pay for your food. He finds an empty table and sits on the same side as you, bodies pressed so close together your thighs touch. Takes another photo after he convinces you to try the cannoli. It’s far too sweet and far too rich, and you can’t stomach more than a couple bites, but Soonyoung wears a proud, beaming smile the entire time that helps it go down easier. He cleans the powdered sugar from the tip of your nose and, when he’s done, he stares at you so intently you think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

There are things he wants to do first. More rides, more hand-holding, more obscene t-shirts he tries talking you into buying, more strange foods you can only find in a place like this. More people he wants to introduce you to, too, because he seems to know everyone. They all greet him warmly, like their day is better just by running into him, so by extension that warmth is also on offer for you. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?” they all ask, and Soonyoung introduces you by name each time.

He never says, Oh, she’s renting one of my spare rooms for the summer.

He never says, Oh, she’s just a friend.

He never says, Oh, no, it’s nothing serious, because it isn’t anything at all.

Not once does he shy away. Never seems embarrassed to be seen with you. Doesn’t seem fussed by his friends glancing down at your clasped hands and assuming you’re together, or watching the way he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side. He doesn’t put a name to whatever is simmering between the two of you, but he doesn’t snuff it out, either.

Soonyoung gives you an answer to a question you haven’t dared to ask: does he feel it, does he want this, too?

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing. You know this as well as anyone. But it doesn’t feel so scary when, later on, the two of you see Chan manning one of the game booths, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as a young kid throws darts at a wall of colorful balloons. “Wow, great job,” he deadpans every time one pops, not bothering to check how many were taken out before handing over a giant stuffed animal.

“I’m gonna win you something,” Soonyoung declares. “Which one’s your favorite?”

You hum. Tap your finger against your chin as you pretend to mull it over. “The tiger,” you answer. “The really big one.”

Soonyoung pretends to push up sleeves that don’t exist. “Coming right up.” He approaches Chan. “Hello, sir. I’m here to win the giant tiger for the lovely lady.”

Chan ignores him and holds out his hand for the money. “Pay up, weirdo.”

As they argue, you wander into another souvenir shop. It’s mostly more of the same—tacky figurines of sea life and shot glasses featuring anatomically incorrect genitalia, skimboards and mugs with seashells for handles—but you pause in front of a rack of keychains. You’re not going to find Soonyoung’s name on any of these tiny surfboards. There are others, though: #1 Grandpa, Rock Star, Boy Mom, They Didn’t Have My Name. You laugh at the last one. Almost pick it up for Soonyoung until another one catches your eye.

Best Teacher

When you return to Chan’s game stall, Soonyoung is holding the tiger around the neck, grinning triumphantly as he rocks back on his heels like he hunted it himself.

“Welcome back! As you can see, I fought valiantly to win you your requested prize.”

He returns his arm to your shoulders, pulling you back into his side as he continues walking down the pier. From behind, Chan yells, “No he didn’t! He didn’t win shit, he grabbed it when I wasn’t looking! He’s a fraud!”

Naturally, Soonyoung ignores this. Pretends he doesn’t know Chan at all and asks what you’re going to name your new friend. “Probably nothing, if you keep carrying them like that. I think they’re turning purple. Or blue.”

Soonyoung gasps and adjusts his grip. Carries your new friend around their middle instead of their neck. “Okay, no attempted murder charges for me. One of my friends is on ferris wheel duty tonight—let’s see if he’ll let me use his locker.”

“Trying to get rid of my child already?”

“They’re heavy,” he whines.

You poke his bicep. “Are these just for show, then? God gives His biggest biceps to His most useless soldiers.”

“Did you forget I won this—”

“Stole,” you correct.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Did you forget I won this for you? How can that be useless?”

You’re poised for a response that’s cut off by someone shouting his name. A lanky, kind of tall man is leaning over the wrought-iron railing, waving his arms like one of those blow-up things outside car dealerships. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and his nametag has two names on it. HANSOL is crossed out with VERNONwritten underneath in bigger, bolder letters, prompting you to ask Soonyoung what his name actually is.

“Both,” he answers. Then, to Hansol-Vernon, he asks, “Can I use your locker for this thing?”

“Just leave it here,” Hansol-Vernon says, pointing at the floor of his operating station. He cracks open a can of beer. “Y’all want some? The fireworks are gonna start soon so everyone bounced. No one’s wanted to ride this thing in fuckin’ hours.”

Surely this is in violation of at least fifteen different safety standards. No one else seems to care, though, so you’re not going to be the one to bring it up and be a wet blanket about it. “Sure.” You shrug, accepting two cans when he hands them over.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. “Can we watch the fireworks from this thing?”

“Probably. They’re doing them all the way down the beach, so I don’t think they’ll, like, hit you.”

Soonyoung looks at you. Asks a question with his eyes that you answer with a small nod. “Sick. Give us more of those”—he points to Hansol-Vernon’s beer stash—“and don’t bring us back down until I say so.”

“Dude, no. If you’re planning on fucking up there again don’t even—”

You choke on your beer, coughing violently as you try to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Hansol-Vernon slaps you on the back and asks politely if you can get it together because he can’t have a death on his hands, either. “Thanks, Hansol-Vernon,” you say, wheezing a little as you regain your voice.

“It’s just Hansol. Or Vernon.”

That doesn’t clear up much.

Still stuck on three sentences ago, Soonyoung scoffs, indignant, and crosses his arms over his chest. “First of all, that was Mingyu! Don’t blame me for his debauchery! Second of all…” He pauses. “No second of all, actually.” He turns to you. “Do you wanna watch the fireworks from up there? I promise I won’t try to fuck you.”

You choke again.

Regardless, you agree. Vernon (which you’ve settled on calling him due to his shirt, which doesn’t have much of a Hansol vibe) gets you two situated, shouting a very pointed, “Hands where I can see them at all times!” when you reach the top.

And the view is breathtaking.

Nearly the entire town is visible, flat and sprawling as it encroaches on the shoreline to your right and the bay to your left. Lit up bright, welcoming like a beacon, though you’re not sure what it’s luring you into. You watch the waves break against the shore. The ant-sized people moving in herds. All the other rides that are operating and flashing and playing stupid little songs. You watch two seagulls perch on the roof of the ticket booth and fight over a french fry.

Under no circumstances do you look at Soonyoung, even though you know he’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze is overwhelming. Has fire needling beneath your skin, pricking at your most sensitive spots. Because not only are there implications in it, there are wants. Wants that you know would be mirrored in your own eyes. And that’s… is it smart to start something with a predetermined end date? Soonyoung isn’t an idiot, wouldn’t be going into this with eyes wide shut, but you’re not sure where you stand. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take and a hurt you’re willing to both endure and put someone else through.

Still.

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing, and Soonyoung’s looking at you like he wants to engulf you. Like he wants to take every broken part of you and piece them back together with gentle hands. He’s looking at you with no trepidation at all, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. Like there’s potential. Like whatever you have to offer is worthwhile.

It should be scary. You should be throwing out emergency flares, begging whoever comes to your rescue to make you think rationally. It’s only been a month. You’re leaving in two. Hours of distance separate the two of you. You barely know him. He barely knows you; might eventually uncover all the things you hate about yourself and find them ugly, too.

It should be scary.

But it’s not.

So here, at the top of a ferris wheel that might as well be the top of the world, is where you finally meet his eye and manage to say, “I want you to kiss me. When the fireworks start, I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung smiles so wide his cheeks dimple. Scooches forward to sit on the edge of the bench, so close his knees knock into yours, always touching now that he’s allowed to. So close you can smell the sea salt and the remnants of cologne that stick to his skin. So close you can see yourself reflected in his eyes, surrounded by stars.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks, voice deep and molten, words nearly spoken into the crook of your neck. You almost have to look away again—almost have to call the whole thing off out of self-preservation—because that intensity is back. Has your breath hitching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline.

Soonyoung cups your jaw. Runs his thumb over the seam of your lips. If you were any more coherent you’d nip at it with your teeth, soothe the sting with your tongue, show you can give as good as you get. You want Soonyoung just as affected as you, just as wanting. Just as gripped by the anticipation. Just as fucked up over the possibility of it all.

And it seems like he is, because he leans in impossibly closer. Uses his free hand to grip at the meat of your thigh, slide it higher until it’s nearly settling on your waist. He pinches the fabric of your shirt between his fingers like he’s trying to savor it, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he speaks this time, you actually do feel it against your skin. Feel the way his lips form around each word. Feel his warm breath every time he exhales. Feel your stomach somersault when he asks, “What if I don’t want to wait for the fireworks?” Feel your core throb when he continues, tone headier than you’ve ever heard it, “What if I just pulled you into my lap and kissed you right now?”

If you were any more coherent you’d tell him to do it. You’d smirk, press your tongue into the fat of your cheek, lean in just as close and watch the goosebumps rise on his arms when you tugged his earlobe between your teeth and said, “Why don’t you find out?” But you’re all out of sorts here on the top of the world, scared you’re going to come plummeting back to reality any second.

Because Soonyoung feels like a dream—not idealized or put on a pedestal, but realistic and attainable. Someone it’s easy to exist alongside of. Someone who shows you off without reservation and swindles his friends out of glorified carnival prizes just because you want one. Someone not afraid of or deterred by the liminal state of your relationship, before things became more solid and defined. Someone who knows when to push and when to be patient. Someone who looks at you and sees a future you could barely imagine—not because you didn’t want it, but because all those assumed barriers.

Grief so overpowering some days you could barely get out of bed. Salary, title, and job prospects not where or what you thought they’d be after graduating nearly a decade ago. Feeling trapped by both of these things. Knowing it’s pointless to tie your self-worth to numbers and degrees and prestige but being unable to help it. Being quietly dissatisfied with a simple, ordinary life.

But while those things are true, they aren’t what defines you.

You haven’t decided this thing with Soonyoung is worth pursuing because of his job—jobs. How much money he does or doesn’t make isn’t what you see when you look at him. What you see is his smile when he walks through the door on Friday evenings. The way his brows pinch and his tongue sticks out just so when he’s cooking dinner for the two of you. The look he wears when he shows up in the doorway of your room, half embarrassment and half mischief as he asks you to help him bleach his hair at some ungodly hour—that he trusts you to help even though you’ve never done it before. You see a man that, for the past month, has welcomed you into his home and his life.

All of those things are what makes it easy to plant your hands in the center of his chest and push him back against the bench. To crawl into his lap just like he’d teased, to nip at his skin just like you’d wanted, and whisper, “Maybe I don’t want to wait, either.”

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this: the first firework exploding as soon as Soonyoung grabs you by the back of the neck and draws you in for a searing, bruising kiss. The way he groans into your mouth and moves his hands to your waist, trying to erase space that doesn’t exist. You can tell he’s holding himself back, that he wants to thrust his hips, desperate for friction, but doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, is letting you set the pace.

And the pace you want is just as frenzied.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears, hissing as you fully drop your weight onto him. When he tilts his head back, you move your lips to the column of his throat, delighting in the sounds spilling from him, the way he finally dares to roll his hips.

You moan, unable to help the sleazy smile that stretches across your face. “God,” you rasp, matching his thrusts, “you’re so hard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. Makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. “Do you know—shit—d’you know how long I’ve wa-wanted to kiss you? And have you seen yourself?”

“I have,” you snark, threading your fingers through his hair. “You could’ve, you know. Would’ve let you.”

“Pull it harder.” You do as you’re told, tightening your grip, staring down at the man beneath you. Lips parted, breathing labored, unsure what to do with his hands. You want to mess him up. Want to bring him close to the edge and make him suffer through having to wait. “Mm yeah, just like that, baby—make it hurt.”

Every word strikes you deep. Has you needy and clenching around nothing, unfazed by the world around you, that you’re in public. Fireworks continue to explode. So will you, soon, if Soonyoung doesn’t—

“Touch me,” you beg, unashamed of the need in your tone. He should hear it. He should know how affected you are by him, what he does to you. What you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. “Soonyoung, please. Touch me, take me home, I don’t care, just—”

You’d be hard-pressed to say how you got here.

On your back in Soonyoung’s bed, his head between your legs. Panties pulled down only as far as they needed to be for him to get his mouth on you, and god is it good. Soonyoung’s made a trembling, gasping mess of you in record time. Has you clutching at his sheets every time he suctions his lips around your clit; every long, pointed stroke he makes with his tongue. Stars explode behind your eyelids every time he praises you, and you’d wanted him on the edge but you make it there first.

Soonyoung can tell. Sucks two fingers into his mouth and teases your entrance. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You nod, unable to muster actual words. Soonyoung grins, devilish and wicked, and presses his fingers inside. Crooks them immediately against your front wall as he returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking, nipping at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Mhmm, let me feel it—that’s it, good girl. Taste so fuckin’ good; you drive me fucking crazy.”

You come with a shout, vision nearly whiting out, your hands back in Soonyoung’s hair to anchor you to this plane of existence. Wave after wave of euphoria hits you, and you almost beg him to keep going, to not go easy on you, make you come again, but you also just want him closer. Want to taste yourself on his lips. Want to hear his fractured intakes of breath as you grip his cock and touch him properly for the first time. Want the two of you to have to sleep in your bed because you make such a mess of his.

All he gives you is a few seconds to catch your breath. You know what you must look like, chest heaving and sweat-slick, and it makes you feel powerful. Sexy. Gives you the confidence to shrug off the last of your inhibitions and say, “C’mere, please,” and kiss the taste of your pussy off his lips, suck it off his tongue.

You skim your hands down his body—the expanse of soft, warm skin, chest to thigh. Grab at him over his briefs, rub your thumb across the wet patch you find there. Soonyoung curses when you suck that same thumb into your mouth and groan at the taste, the musk and hint of salt. One day you’ll return the favor and make him come with your mouth, have his muscles contracting as you swallow him down and let him fuck your throat, but right now you’re too impatient. Need him inside of you too badly.

There’s plenty of time for everything else.

Hand dipping beneath his briefs, you’re finally able to feel the weight of him. His velvety skin. Soonyoung hisses and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. Watches you like a hawk, predator and prey, and it just spurns you on more. Has you circling and pumping his length, trying to figure out what he likes—which seems to be everything, judging by the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck and whines. “Baby,” he mewls. “God, you’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight and wet. Fuck, I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

“Yeah?” you tease, thumbing at his slit, collecting the pearls of pre-cum. “You wanna keep me forever?”

Another loud moan. “Please don’t say things like that,” he pleads, and you swear your heart stops, that your stomach drops through the mattress and onto the floor, before he follows it up with, “you’ll make me bust in my underwear like a virgin.”

You giggle, because that’s just how it is with Soonyoung: so easy to exist, to let go of your fear; so easy to laugh when everything starts feeling a bit too serious.

Easy to lob a truly terrible joke right back at him. “Come lose it, then.”

He barks a laugh. Leans over to fetch a condom from his nightstand. “Would you, the beautiful, incredible woman who I can’t believe is naked in my bed right now after I scammed her, like to do the honors?”

You would, actually, so you do.

Soonyoung kisses you as he slowly presses inside. As he fucks into you inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust; moves his hands to your waist and massages the skin just above your hip bones. “Okay?” he asks, and when you nod, tell him it’s okay to move, he presses another kiss to your forehead. “Good job, pretty girl; took me so well. I knew you’d feel like heaven.”

He fucks you slowly at first, measured and precise. Takes his time rolling his hips as his hands explore anything they can reach, like he can’t bear to not be touching you even though you’re connected in the most raw, sensual way two people can be. He waits he can feel you spasming around him, until your legs are locked behind his back, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, before he obliges. Before he puts all the power in his hips to good use. Before he rolls you onto your stomach and enters you from behind, both of you gasping at how much more intense it feels.

“Close,” you warn him, not at all surprised at how quickly your second release has snuck up on you.

With a final nip to the back of your neck, Soonyoung plants his knees against the mattress and grabs you by the hips, angling your body so he hits deeper, harder; so his balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts into you. You’re mindless with pleasure. Babbling nonsense as you beg him not to stop. Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, he speaks through gritted teeth.

The coil of tension in your gut finally snaps. Again, you come with a shout, entire body pulling taut as Soonyoung continues to fuck you through it, his own undoing not far behind. Only a few more thrusts before he’s draping his body over yours and spilling into the condom, hands immediately reaching for yours to twine your fingers together.

It’s quiet in the immediate aftermath. Soonyoung rolls onto his side and presses his front against your back, arm secured around your middle. Kisses the top of your head and sighs. “I need to clean us up but I don’t think I can move.”

“Hm. At least take off the condom so your dick doesn’t get all pruney.”

Soonyoung startles, bolting upright. “Can that happen?”

“Dunno,” you respond, feeling sleep nipping at your heels, “but I’d rather you didn’t risk finding out. I happen to like your dick very much.”

He laughs. Rolls out of bed and playfully swats at your ass on his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed for a long time.”

In the morning, you wake up Soonyoung with your mouth and ride him until you’re both dizzy and breathless.

You fetch a book from your room and read while he dozes in and out of consciousness, content to just be next to him. You ignore the slew of texts from Minghao, who had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there had been a development in your and Soonyoung’s relationship the night before, but once your phone vibrates for the hundredth time that morning, you figure you might as well get it over with because you know Minghao—know he won’t relent until he gets what he’s looking for.

Minghao [11:03am]: ignore my actually important texts all you want, but at least look at this 🙄

What he’s sent you is a job listing.

You can hardly believe what you’re reading. Not only is it nearly your dream job, but it’s remote and triple your current salary—and, most importantly, you’re qualified.

You [11:12am]: Minghao what is this?? Minghao [11:12am]: a friend is a higher-up there. says we can use him as a reference but if your resume looks good it might as well be a done deal Minghao [11:13am]: i already sent yours to him btw You [11:14am]: Freak. Why do you have a copy of my resume?? Minghao [11:14am]: i don’t. i sent him your linkedin Minghao [11:14am]: your ugly ass headshot must not have scared him off bc he said he’ll be in touch soon

Now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason.

You’ll figure out a way to thank him later, ask if he’s making the switch with you because both of you deserve better. You won’t get your hopes up—not until it’s a done deal, and not until you talk to Soonyoung. Because whatever this is between you is heading down a path you want to follow; want to see through to the end, wherever that may be.

For now, though, you’re happy to exist alongside Soonyoung. Happy to listen to his quiet snores and let him cuddle into your side. Happy to be in this house in this little beach town that has already given you so much.

Perhaps fate is something you believe in, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

#caratbaycollab #hoshi smut #hoshi x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #hoshi fanfic #hoshi imagines

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catalinasroom · 23 days ago

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stranger things fics

steve harrington

it's just us @andvys

You and Steve hated each other from the first moment you met but when you get betrayed by the people you love the most, all you have is each other. (8k)

ain't it fun? @maroon-cardigan

since high school you were always regarded as a top student with a brilliant future, but after college is over you find yourself doing the one thing you promised you wouldn’t do: moving back to hawkins. if being a total failure wasn’t humiliating enough, once you’re back you find out that your friends now hang out with no other than your high school bully. (29k)

touch me baby @sweatervest-obsessed

(21.7k)

chrisrtmas affairs @maroon-cardigan

your christmas turns into a chaotic mess when your boss can’t fly back home and you end up stuck in New York City with him. (26.7k)

indifferent @stevesherdaddynowlover

you and steve are coworkers and while you try (and fail) to act like he doesn’t exist, he’s a little obsessed with you and would do anything to have your attention (15.5k)

whats the name of the game? @maroon-cardigan

every winter steve harrington and you fight over the frozen pond between your houses. while he loves to bring his friends to skate, you need to de-stress from the pressure of ballet practice. it’s always an entertaining game between you two until you get the lead role in the winter production, and steve sets his mind to break through your stubborn, overachieving façade. (25.6k)

stuck @thecreelhouse

Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. (4.6k)

come home @stevie-petey

come home to me, okay?" "always," steve promises. in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington. (series)

save room for us @maroon-cardigan

one year after his divorce, steve sets his mind to give his daughter nellie an unforgettable christmas, yet in the midst of his efforts, he finds himself orbiting around the pretty receptionist that works in his office, diving into a holiday season full of secret encounters and sensual indecency. (24.2k) part two (20.2k)

guts! @water-loos

(series)

three's a secret @general-kenobis

You and Steve are friends with benefits. However, you've been wanting to try something way out of your comfort zone, and it brings Steve to a mission: find someone who agrees to your intentions. (Ps: your guest has a very peculiar piercing on his body) (7k) ft eddie munson

the edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) @andvys

Everything he once knew, is gone, dead and buried, burned to the ground and turned into ash. All he has known is loss, death and pain, he despised this world, until it brought you to him -- the sunshine he had long forgotten. Light he will follow till the very end. (series)

gasoline @stevie-petey

it starts out simple enough. photograph the februarys in exchange for a cheap place to live. all you have to do is go to their gigs, take a few pictures, and hope that they like them.it starts out simple enough. until the bands frontman, steve harrington, begs for more. (series)

training wheels @maroon-cardigan

first kiss, first love, first heartbreak. you and steve have never been good at doing things for the first time, not unless you're together. yet there are certain types of tension that not even the strongest friendship can bear, and after years of distance you two can't help but wonder if there's a possibility that all those firsts were only leading you towards forever. (22.8k)

eddie munson

the hat rule @ghost-proofbaby

the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy. (13.3k)

forbidden fruit of desire @frombeyondthegravez

You are a dancer in the city, consistently trying to stay in line and be perfect. You usually don't let people see the darker desires plaguing you, but one man discovers too much at a party. He offers you a chance to get a taste of these fantasies, and you can't help but give in...if only you knew what he was hiding. (8k)

are you or have you ever been @elegantpaperoperatormaker

You’re the most popular girl in school, a 4.0 student, a fantastic cheerleader, and a force to be reckoned with. Eddie is…well, Eddie. When you two mix, it’s like oil and water. Spewing hateful insults one minute and hooking up the next, you and Eddie navigate the thin line between love and hate. (25.4k) part two (14.7k)

secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought) @andvys

A weekend alone with Eddie at Steve's cabin reveals all yours and his deepest desires, feelings you were too afraid to act upon bubbling to the surface, leading to a steamy night that might change you and your best friend forever. (20.4k)

smoke me out @strangerstilinski

you and eddie are friends — and really, what's a little shotgunning amongst friends? (7.4k)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harringon #steve harrington series #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson series

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maiamore · 5 months ago

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LUCKY YOU

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 2.7k

Summary: Joel tries to read his book instead of giving his wife attention on his honeymoon.

Or, Joel fucks his wife at the beach.

Tags: husband!joel, public indecency, sex on the beach, established relationship, outdoor sex, p in v sex, accidental creampie,honeymoon vibes,able bodied reader, implied age gap, slight coercing(?) reader just wants her husband to fuck her on her honeymoon smfh, use of pet names, pussy pronouns, one use of the word daddy A/N: i don't even have to explain what conjured this, beach pedro y'all, i enjoyed writing this SO MUCH

Edit: this song, Image - Magdalena Bay suits this fic perfectly in my head arghh MASTERLIST

It wasn’t easy getting a man like Joel Miller to relax.

Every goddamn chance he got, he’d find a way to keep busy–mind or body. Whether it was fixing the creaky cabinet door or patching up the leaky air-conditioning unit that the landlord swore they'd call someone for. Joel thrived on activity, claiming it "kept the bad thoughts away." Whatever those bad thoughts were, you weren’t sure, but you suspected they’d always be lurking at the edges.

Even now, with the tropical sun bathing both of you in its’ lazy warmth and the lull of crystal blue waves breaking the shore, Joel had insisted on unwinding by reading, of all things.

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead.

Given, it was a good read, you’d insisted for him to give it a try. And you’d enjoyed it—a book that had you question societal norms, ethical implications of how humanity treated animals and the environment through the eyes of Janina Duszejko.

Could you really be upset at your husband keeping his mind occupied with a good book?

Oh, you could. And you would. Considering this was your honeymoon.

Three blissful, chaotic years of marriage had finally led you both here. A getaway, tucked in a small Caribbean resort. You both managed to rub every damned spare penny together and finally found yourselves living a much needed pleasure.

You spent your mornings indulging in piña coladas and your afternoons barefoot on powder soft sand with cool foam kissing your ankles. Taking in the salty ocean air.

To Joel’s credit, you were finally getting to see a side of him you weren’t able to in your entirety of knowing him.

The deep creases of his brows had disappeared, replaced by something softer, easier. The only lines on his face now were the crows feet that appeared in his relaxed laughter. Work and responsibility kept him on his feet back in Austin. But here? With Tommy stepping up to manage Miller’s Construction, Joel had let himself breathe.

A man unburdened. Lord knows he’d deserved it. Though it was a double edged sword.

You’d never found your husband sexier than ever in his relaxed state and your libido was through the fucking roof.

If his hand wasn’t resting on the small of your back, it was tangled in yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles into your palm. And when it wasn’t there? It was on your thigh beneath the dinner table, his fingers tracing the outline of your knee absentmindedly.

You found yourself stealing glances at him.

In complete awe at the man who could quite literally wrestle a washing machine up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat—look so utterly peaceful, sprawled on the sun lounger. With sand clinging to his calves and a vibrant blue book spread open within his thumb and forefingers.

Good fucking god. His hands.

Your palm crinkled around the sweet peach seltzer that you pulled from the mini cooler, desperate to quench the growing thirst. The fizz popped against your lips as Joel glanced up from his book, offering you a smile with the soft shadow you brought with you. An angel you were, he thought.

He adjusted just enough to plant a kiss on your cheek, his scruff tickling your skin. A grin spread across your face and you leaned in to steal a proper kiss, only for him to swerve to give the book his attention.

“Enjoying your honeymoon with the book?” You snark, flopping onto the soft white cushion beside him. Unpacking the essentials you’d lugged out here.

“Don’t be dramatic, darlin’. S’a good book.” He remarks, voice slow and warm, like honey dripping from its dipper. He doesn’t lift his gaze to look at you. Though his palm comes up to knead around your waist in a half assed attempt to acknowledge your existence.

You huffed, sinking into the lounger. The deep blues of your bikini catching in the sunlight. Joel’s gaze flicked up for a moment and you caught the way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, like he was trying to play it cool.

He snorted suddenly. “You tryin’ to be the book, hopin’ I’ll look atcha’ more?”

You paused, squinting at him before glancing down at your bikini and then the book cover. Damn it. They were the same shade of blue. A groan left you as you grabbed the sunscreen and tossed it his way.

“Don’t start. It’s a coincidence, Miller.”

He catches the bottle one handed, setting his book aside. You notice him eyeing you again as you turn to present your back. This surely would rile him up just a little and finally get his attention, wouldn’t it?

The untied straps of your bikini dangled and you give him a pointed look over your shoulder.

“Well?”

“Aight, Mrs Miller. C’mere.”

He muttered a curse underneath his breath, squeezing a dollop of sunscreen into his palm. He worked the lotion over your shoulders and down your back, his calloused hands moving slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second. The curve of your waist–down to the dip of your spine, it was all too much.

“You sure this ain’t part of your plan?” he begins, his voice low, a little strained now.

“What plan?” you tossed over your shoulder, feigning innocence.

“Mmhmm. You’re real sneaky, y’know that?”

You smirked, closing your eyes as his hands smoothed over your skin. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out a frustrated little breath, planting a chaste kiss on the back of your shoulder like it might ground him. His hands lingered for just a second too long on the gentle curve of your waist before he pulls away, clearing his throat and settling back into his lounger.

Joel was still a red-blooded man. How the hell was he supposed to keep his head straight when his wife looked like that, all soft and pretty, perched right there like she didn’t know the power she had over him?

Without another word, Joel busies himself with fiddling the pages. Trying real hard to convince himself he hadn’t just lost that round. But the way his thumb taps restless against the edge of the book gave him away.

You knew going into this relationship that being a man almost a decade older than you would entail a quieter life.

Joel’s age had never been an issue. Not when he could still work circles around men half his years and definitely not in bed. No, he had no need for the blue pill, thank you very much. But times like this? Times when you’d laid yourself out like a fucking michelin star dessert and he couldn’t be bothered to take so much as a bite?

That was fucked.

You lift your shades to perch on your head, glancing around the beach. It was almost empty, just a few scattered umbrellas and the rhythmic sound of waves breaking against the shore. Yet here he was, sunk deep into his book. The golden rays danced along his tanned skin, kissing the flecks of gray in his beard like he was a goddamn painting.

Your teeth catches your bottom lips before you finally decide to make a move. With a casual shift, you scooted snug next to him, thigh hooking around his underneath your paisley blue and white blanket. Your fingers drift to rest over his, twisting the cool silver of his wedding band.

Joel doesn’t look up right away but he gives a soft grunt of acknowledgement. Tugging you closer with a firm hand on your waist. He leans in to press a kiss just below your ear, the scrape of his beard sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

“Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

“Oh, not much,” you replied, glancing pointedly at his book. “Just wondering if it’s one of those magic books from Harry Potter that sprouts new pages.”

He smirks, finally tilting his head to look at you, eyes full of that slow, teasing mischief. “Maybe it’s ‘cause someone keeps tryin’ to distract me.”

You gasped, hand flying to your chest like you were scandalized. “Me? I’d never.”

“Uh huh,” he hums, clearly unconvinced.

You swat at his arm playfully but he catches your wrist, pulling you in for a deep kiss. It wasn't a chaste one this time. His lips locked with yours, slow, attentive. The taste of piña colada lingered on his tongue, mingling with the faint tang of sea salt from his earlier dip in the ocean. Your hands drift to the strings of his red swimsuit, sliding lower down the middle.

That makes him pull away. Looking at you half-lidded, though he doesn’t quite move your hand.

“You tryin’ to get us arrested, baby girl?”

“There’s no one around, Joel.”

You offer as you lean in to kiss him again. You feel him hesitate, rightfully so. Maybe it was the drinks you’d pumped into your systems earlier, but Joel doesn’t push you away this time. His rough palm comes to wrap around the back of your neck, drawing the sweetness of peaches from the seltzer from your tongue into his.

“Gotta make it quick, then.” He murmurs into your lips as you feel him guide you onto his lap. To your delight, your husband was already rock fucking hard for you.

He lets out a drawn out sigh as you rock your hips onto his erection, his palm steady behind you to encourage your movements. He couldn’t have been any harder now. “Lookin’ like fuckin’ sin.” His thumb swipes up to the gusset of your bikini bottoms.

“What’re you trying to do t’me?”

You smile against his lips. “Finally noticing your poor neglected wife?” You flip your hair to the other side of your shoulders to nip at his ear lobe. He tenses at that, grabbing your jaw with a rough hold.

“Had to, baby. Else we’d be spendin’ this entire vacation with my cock stuffed in this needy fuckin’ pussy.”

You shudder at the want in his voice. You attempt to reply but a thumb slips into your parted lips, two fingers coaxing the drool out.

You let out a soft uunff as Joel pulls out his fingers with a string of your saliva following. “Gross. Supergoop tastes like shit.”

“Yeah well, didn’t give me much time to get all cleaned up for you now did ya?”

He grins at your little complaints about the taste of sunscreen on his fingers. You were quickly shut up by the sensation of his split slick fingers nudging into your pussy.

You groan out. Hips jumping as he probes into you gently. You catch the flutter of your beach blanket in your peripheral, watching as Joel covers both of you–as well as it could've from the bottom down.

“Don’t think that’s gonna do shi—hhhhiitt.” Your words slurrs at Joel’s steadily thrusts into your pussy. Your hands come to rest on his shoulders. “God. Baby that’s so—…so good..” You manage, words barely a whisper.

Joel leans in to pepper kisses up your jaw. “I know. Practically suckin’ my fingers in.” He mumbles against your neck, fingers squelching deeper into your walls, caressing it in a repeated motion. His thumb swipes against your throbbing clit simultaneously.

“So fuckin’ warm n’ soft. She’s gonna milk my cock dry.” He mutters, more so to himself.

A sharp shiver creeps down your spine. “J-Joel—…i’mclose—…shit i’msosoclose—“ You mutter incoherently. Your hips rising a little to Joel’s persistent finger-fucking.

He hums against your shoulder. Other hand, keeping your hips down firm, making sure you felt the full bearing of his two fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. “Give it t’me.”

Your eyes roll back in pure fucking ecstasy within a matter of seconds. Hips attempting to squirm away from Joel’s fingers. He kisses your cheeks softly.

“Good fucking girl.”

You let out a fucked out giggle. Suckling at his jaw and down his neck. Joel doesn’t give you much of a cool down, evident in the way he’d already been sliding his pre-cum soaked cock out of his swim trunks, nudging the tip against your sticky folds.

His thumb pushes aside the gusset of your bikini bottoms further, watching your slick bubble around the soaked fabric.

“Lookit’, all ready to fuckin’ go.” He grins. With a quick glance around to check for the soul of another, he fully sheathes himself into you.

He groans out and earns a pathetic whimper from you at the motion. Joel tips his head back against the lounger. Almost seizing up at how your tight pussy strangles his cock.

“Oh, god!”

“Ain’t god, sugar. All me.”

He chuckles at the way you shoot him a warning look, though it held no bite. Joel wraps his arm around your hips to piston himself into your pussy.

The sounds of your cunt squelching as you slam down onto his pelvis spurs you on even further as you ride him. Joel looks up. Letting out a sssst as though he’d been burned at the sight of your tits bouncing before him like a goddamned porn star.

“Right outta Hustler issue cover, baby girl.”

“Lucky you.” You laugh a little. Head tipped back to keep up your momentum, rocking your hips to his periodic grinds. You wince as your hair sticks to the back of your shoulders uncomfortably. The prick of overstimulation long gone at the glint of Joel’s gaze on you.

You feel the strings at the back of your bikini unravel at Joel’s gentle tug, allowing your bikini top to shift just enough for your tits to spill out.

Joel gathers your hair loosely off your shoulders. Driving headfirst to pop a tit into his mouth. The grumble he emits against your chest makes you giggle, the scruffiness distracting you from your discomfort.

“Ahhh shit!” You whine out. His hips stutter relentlessly into you as you arch deeper to rest your full body weight onto him. Letting him do the work as he lazily thrusts into you.

“Aww sweetheart, tired already? Lettin’ yer old man do all the damn work?” You offer a mere grunt at his taunt. “Shut up. You’re the one taking for-fucking ever.”

Joel doesn’t respond to you right away, but you get the memo when he pretty much begins to thrust into you like a man unhinged.

The grip around the back of your hair turns meaner when he tugs you to look at him. Deep brown eyes pooling in admiration and sheer fucking need.

“Look at me.” He commands. The way he jackhammers into your pussy being the only constant. “Look at me when I fuckin’ cum in this pussy.”

Your gaze flickers in slight surprise, soft gasps turning into moans when he thumbs your clit. “W-Wait. Joel—I-I can’t.” You manage when the sensation builds in you again.

He adjusts his hold onto your hair in a pleasant grip. Making sure you looked at him while he fucked you hard and fast.

“Yeah y’can.” He grunts into your ears, fucking you deeper in shorter bursts now. Joel could feel his balls steadily tensing up.

“Give daddy nother’ one n’ I’ll consider fuckin’ this come deep into ya.”

You grit your teeth in focus, desperate to give him what he wanted. If you couldn’t come with just his fat cock poking deep into you, you’d come at the way he was looking at you. Brows knit in focus, lips twitched in an attempt to not come.

You finally falter, nails digging into his shoulder as your gaze flashes white and orange. Squeezing around his cock. Joel shudders at the sensation.

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna—”

You snap your gaze up when you hear a shuffle from behind the parasols. It doesn’t register in your head how you managed to grab the yellow and white and yellow tube.

Joel seems to catch your shock, but he isn’t able to stop his cum from spurting deep into your cunt the same time you squirt an obscene amount of sunscreen into his chest.

His hand instinctively comes up to adjust your bikini top, more so to make sure he isn’t letting his wife flash her yabbos out to other people.

You stiffen up, palm smearing the sticky white lotion down Joel’s chest as one of the resort workers comes around with arms full of beach cleaning supplies.

“Um…bonjou?”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic

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aethon-recs · 2 months ago

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This Week (x2) in Tomarrymort (16 – 31 March 2025)

We are so close to 16,000 fics in the ship tag, up from 15,000 in just December 2024!

Also, I’ve been loving this recent spate of same-age F/F Tomarry fics popping up, particularly all the AUs of other beloved media, with a lesbian twist! They’ve all been so fun to read! I started making a list for myself to keep track of all the different AUs, and figured I should share them here too:

⭐ Want some Mean Girls-inspired Tomarry? I urge you to read apex predator by @houndsofheaven (E, 7k, WIP) ⭐ What about Heathers-inspired Tomarry? Please check out an asteroid that's overdue by @cealesti (M, 4k, WIP) ⭐ Timeline mashup AU? Yes please! The Good Knight by @mosiva (E, 49k, WIP) ⭐ As for a college AU, what could be more terrifying than Tom as a Delta Ep in the devil wears sorority letters by @aitafrog (T, 8k, WIP) ⭐ Medieval lesbian Tomarry based off an 18th century poem? A beautiful offering in a star hath set by @curioushabitforarivergod (E, 3k, complete)

Tomarrymort Completed Fics

Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic (E, 60k, complete)

"I—I like you. For some reason. I dunno. It sounds… I know how it sounds. But—I do. I like you, Tom. And I was hoping you'd let me come see you over the summer, or—y'know, write to you." Tom expects to feel victorious at his greatest enemy's confession. Instead, he develops a crush on him.

you try so loud to love me, I cannot seem to hear by @boyneptunee (M, 7k, complete)

Tom thinks his husband is only in it for the money. Harry, on the other hand, tries to build a Home. Or: Modern!Au where they get married out of convenience. It backfires, obviously. OR: They collide like two burning stars and destroy everything in their path. Then they try to build a life on the dust that settles.

penance by @cindle-writes (E, 11k, complete)

Tom Riddle suffers from constant intrusive thoughts about killing people. His priest, Father Harry, wonders when is the day he’ll snap and go too far.

Tomarrymort One-Shot Must Reads

One Shot | a star hath set by @curioushabitforarivergod

One Shot | To Live is to Change by @mosiva

One Shot | Pom-Poms & Perverts by @known-concepts

One Shot | disturbing the peace by @duplicitywrites

One Shot | soft edges, burning wild by @cindle-writes

Tomarrymort Ongoing Must Reads

Chapter 39 of With a resolute heart by Act_Naturally

Chapter 21 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapters 23 through 28 of the whole wideness of the night is for you by The_Side

Chapters 17 through 19 of thimble of the banshee by @houndsofheaven

Chapters 23 and 24 of the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3

Chapter 3 of for i am with you by @solelyseeking

Chapter 27 of What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by @telelli-writes

Chapter 1 of Indecent Harvest by @duplicitywrites @moontearpensfic

Chapters 7 through 9 of Follow where she goes by @mosiva

Chapters 6 and 7 of exitium by @leafsandstarlight

Chapter 1 of i put a spell on you by @ohyondermemphis

Chapters 23 through 25 of you speak of the devil (like he's not your friend) by @amuria

Chapters 5 through 8 of Hold me as I drown by @smolangryslytherin

Chapter 3 of Under the Dreaming Dark by @aglassroseneverfades

Chapter 2 of the devil wears sorority letters by @aitafrog

Chapters 1 and 2 of angel on a satellite by @houndsofheaven

Chapter 11 of the night is cold in the kingdom by @girl-with-goats

Chapter 12 of Fool me once by @holaolla1

Chapter 148 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 1 of Augurey's Glass by anonymous

Chapter 1 of let the world come at you love by @boyneptunee

Chapter 26 of Date Ideas for the Linguistically Inclined by Antique_Mango

Chapters 15 and 16 of Part Two - To Grow a Heart by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapter 2 of Ouroboros by @allthesmilesxo

Chapter 76 of I Can't Carry This Anymore by lemonchase

Chapters 16 of Venom or Valor by @lightningant

Chapter 1 of an asteroid that's overdue by @cealesti

Chapter 12 of Dreams Beyond Blood by @hikarimeroperiddle

Chapter 1 of Take Any Form by @rowena-rain

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #tomarrymort recs #aethon recs #tomarry recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #hp fic recs #harrymort recs #tomarry weekly #this week in tomarrymort

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aemondapologistfrfr · 5 months ago

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A Gift for You

aegon x f!betrothed!reader

Part 2 to Lip Gloss or could be read alone!

Summary: You and Aegon can barely contain yourselves on your wedding day and retire early for the night.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, cum play, like two cups of wine, fingering, oral(f+m), p in v, breeding kink

Authors Note: yk the ‘lip gloss’ in these two fics is prob some of the f o u l e s t shit i’ve written but like i also want aegons lip gloss 🧎🏼‍♀️

Word Count: 3.2k

ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Aegon peels his eyes open at the rushed knocks on his door. The doors are pushed open and handmaidens rush in offering him wine and getting his ceremonial trousers and jerkin out of his wardrobe. He rubs his eyes and blinks around trying to get used to the sun.

“Good morning, my Prince. Your wedding ceremony begins in two hours.” he waves them off and rises from bed.

“Yes, yes,” he wipes his face.

“And your wife to be is demanding your presence.” one of them whispers and he nods to himself.

“Then I’ll be back.” he nods.

Aegon pulls on a tunic and brushes his hair out of his face before grabbing his cup of wine. He exits his chambers and leisurely walks down the hall with a ridiculous smile on his face. He raises his glass and smiles to the people in the halls basking in the excitement of the day. He rounds the corner to your hall and sighs when he sees your flock of handmaidens outside.

“She’s waiting for you, my Prince.” they bow their heads and he nods, striding into your chambers and clicking the door shut behind him.

“Where is my sweet girl? Soon to be my sweet wife?” he coos and you jump up from your chaise and run over to him.

“Good morning.” you jump into his arms and press your lips against his neck.

“What can I do for you this morning?” he sets you down and places his lips against yours.

“I need your cock.” you grab onto the front of his trousers and he grunts.

“Not until later.” he chuckles.

“But I need lip gloss for the ceremony and you said I could use yours for our wedding.” you pout, sliding down to your knees.

“Yeah, that, of course.” he finishes his cup and discards it on the table before he starts to unlace his trousers. “Open your mouth.” he smirks down at you as you sit back on your feet and look up at him. He fists his cock watching you squeeze your thighs together.

“When will you let me put it in my lip gloss tube?” you whine.

“My Gods you’re fucking indecent with your lip gloss and now you want to carry it around with you?” he brings his tip closer to your mouth and you lap against his slit causing more droplets to appear.

“Please, Aeg, as a wedding gift?” you press your lips against his tip. “Please,” you whisper, replacing his hand with yours. “Please, please,” you trace his tip around your lips and he groans watching them glisten.

“Fine, go get your tube.” you squeal and let go of his cock rushing over to your vanity. You come back with an empty tube and get on your knees once more. “Well how do you want to do this?” he grunts as you grab his cock once more.

“Like normal and then when it starts to come out I’ll hold the tube like right here?” you tilt your head as your tongue slides up his slit. “Do you think it’ll work?” you blink up at him.

“We can try.” he breathes out.

“Thank you.” you hum and suck his cock into your mouth.

You swirl your tongue along his length before pulling him out of your mouth smiling at the string of spit and come connecting you both. You place open mouth kisses down his cock as he brushes your hair out of your face. You suck him back into your mouth fully and sigh when he hits the back of your throat. You look up at him and take in his flushed face and heaving chest.

“Fuck, sweet girl.” he pants as you bob your head quickly. You lean back until only his tip is in your mouth and you suction around him hearing his low curses. “Get your tube.” he grits out through his teeth. You reach around for the tub as your tongue lashes against his slit and you taste more leaking out. You pull off with spit trailing down your chin and stroke him fastly. “Oh fuck, just like that.” he groans.

“I love your cock so much.” you hum moving your hand faster. “It makes my favorite lip gloss.” you smile up at him. You watch his stomach flex and bring the tube near his tip. “Thank you.” you coo and his pleasure starts to coat the tube. You let it fall around the tube and in your hand and he watches you with parted lips as you continue to pump him.

“My fucking Gods,” he pants. “I fucking love you so much. I can’t wait to split you open later.” you flush at his words as his pleasure continues to spurt out of him.

He steps back and watches you use the brush to push it in your tube. You scoop it off your hands and the sides of the tube and he shakes his head walking to your bathing chambers to get you a cloth. Just thinking about what you’re doing has him hardening again as he situates himself back in his trousers. You twist the lid back on and look up at him with a smile as he returns.

“Thank you, Aegon.”you hum as he tilts your head and starts to wipe off your face and goes to grab your hand but you bring it to your mouth to clean it off.

“Of course, sweet girl.” he helps you stand back up. “Did you get enough?” he looks at the tube grasped in your hand.

“More than enough. We won’t have to fill it again for a couple days.” he groans, pulling you against him.

“And what of your lip gloss? Can I have some?” he purrs, pulling up your nightdress.

“Later. My handmaidens need to finish getting me ready.” you press your lips to his and walk him to the door.

“And if I were to beg for your cunny the way you beg for my cock?” he whispers, leaning against the door. “I can be quick. I can tell your little cunny is dripping.” he watches your flush deepen.

“How-“ quick knocks on your door cut your words.

“There’s but an hour to the ceremony. The Queen urges you both to get ready and now.” a brave handmaiden talks through the door.

“Later then.” Aegon presses his lips to your quickly before slipping out of your chambers.

ᓚᘏᗢ

Aegon adjusts in his seat watching you pull your lip gloss out for the third time in an hour and spread his come across your mouth. Everytime he pecks your lips he can taste himself on you and he’s slowly losing his composure. Your laugh rings throughout the hall as you laugh at some joke someone spouted out but all he’s focused on is his come coating your lips.

“Let’s retire.” he whispers in your ear and you bat him away.

“We haven’t even received all of our gifts yet.” you pout, patting his thigh.

“I have a gift for you in my trousers.” his lips graze your ear causing you to squirm.

“What is it?” you grab onto his cock and he grunts.

“Gods, we're in a hall full of people.” he grabs your wrist, softly chuckling.

“Well I want my gift.” you lean back and look at him.

“You want my cock in front of all these people?” you shake your head with wide eyes. “Then I’ll give you your gift when we retire.” you lean up and press your lips to his and squeak when he licks along your lip. “I think you need to put some more lip gloss on.” he smirks watching you pull out your tube.

“We might have to refill it in the morning.” you show him the half empty tube.

“We can refill it tonight.” he plucks the tube from your fingers and takes the brush to swipe it across your lips. You run your tongue across your bottom lip and he swipes more of your gloss on to you only for you to lick it off your lip once more. “If you want it so badly you can go under the table and take it from the source.” he watches your cheeks flush.

“I would like that.” you nod and start to slide out of your chair. He grabs onto your arm and stands clearing his throat.

“We’re retiring.” he announces and there are a couple hushed chuckles.

Aegon ignores his mothers protest about the early hour and he waves her off before helping you to your feet. You giggle as he presses his lips to your hand and he leads you out of the hall. You hold onto his arm as he leads you through the Keep .

“Do you need anything from your chambers?” he pulls you closer to his side.

“No.” you shake your head. “We’re sharing chambers from now on, right?” you look up at him.

“If that’s what you would like.” he nods.

“Would you like it?” you tighten your grip around his arm.

“Of course, I want you as close as possible.” you smile leaning against his arm.

He slows when he approaches his chambers and pushes the doors open for you. He shuts the doors behind the both of you and watches you look around. You let your eyes flutter shut when you feel his hands brush away your hair and begin to press his lips against your neck.

“You are so beautiful, sweet girl.” he murmurs against your skin.

His fingers begin to loosen your laces and smiles as you lean back into him. He slowly starts to slide your gown off your shoulders pressing his lips to you listening to your soft gasps. Your skin heats as Aegon's fingers trace every place his lips linger. Your gown is slowly pulled down past your hips until it falls to pool on the ground. Aegon walks around you and offers you his hand to step away from the fabric. His hands grab onto your waist and pull you against him as he captures your lips.

“Aegon,” you gasp softly as he starts to pull up your slip.

“I’m right here.” he smiles “Can I see you?” he hums. You nod and step back and soon your slip is tossed next to your gown. “My Gods you’re divine.” his hands trace over every inch of skin before pulling you back against him and kissing at your neck.

“Can I see you?” you whine pulling at his jerkin and he chuckles.

“Go ahead.” he watches you quickly undo the buttons and begin tugging off his jerkin and his tunic is quick to follow. You’re quick to unlace and push down his trousers and he’s equally as eager to step out of them. “Let’s go to the bed.” he lifts you up and lays you back on the bed and groans as you part your legs.

“I want to kiss you.” you reach out for him as he looks down at you. “Please.” you whisper. Aegon settles between your thighs and presses his lips to yours. You wrap your arms around him and your legs are quick to pull his waist down to yours.

“Slow down.” he chuckles, kissing down your jaw. His lips linger on your throat before he scoots down to your breast. He looks up at you as he flicks his tongue against your nipple and watches you shutter.

“Oh,” you gasp, bringing your hands to his shoulders. “Aegon, yes,” you whine when he sucks the hard peak into his mouth. A moan slips free when his fingers find your wetness. His tongue lashes against your chest when your soft sounds greet his ears.

“Your cunny is so wet for me.” he mumbles moving over to your other nipple. “Shh, shh,” he chuckles. “If you’re quiet you’ll be able to hear it.” he smirks when you bite your lip. Your eyes roll back when his fingers speed up and you can hear the pleasure coating his hand. “That’s my good girl.” he hums before sucking your nipple into his mouth.

“Mm, Aeg- I,” a small sob comes from you as you fall apart.

He looks up at you watching your eyes screw shut as he continues to swirl his fingers. As he kisses down your navel his fingers start to circle your entrance. Your soft gasp is followed by his favorite whimper when his tongue licks against your bud. He chuckles as your hips slowly start to rock against his face seeking more.

“I’m going to use my fingers to get your little cunny ready for my cock, okay?” you peel your eyes open and look down at him nodding quickly.

A low groan comes from him when he pushes one finger into you. You whimper above him when he starts to circle his tongue around your bud while slowly pumping his finger. He smirks seeing your legs start to shake when he speeds up his movements. He brings a second finger to your core and slowly starts to push it in with the first. He pushes two fingers into you watching you arch off the bed. He focuses on your bud as he feels you squeezing around his fingers.

“Yes, Aegon,” you breathe out clawing at the sheets. He pushes his fingers faster and he’s graced with your high pitched whimpers. “Please, please,” your pleasure coils as you press against his fingers. You go taut when your high slams through you.

“Are you ready for my cock, sweet girl?” he continues to push his fingers into you. “Your cunny is squeezing my fingers begging to be filled.” he chuckles at your small whines. “Do you want to be filled, sweet girl?” you nod your head, softly rocking your hips. “I wanna hear you say it.” your cheeks flush.

“I want you,” you gasp as his tongue flicks against your bud. “To fill my cunny. Please,” you whine when he slips his fingers out of you.

He kisses back up to your mouth while he slides his tip through your wetness. He grabs onto your thigh as you wrap a leg around him pulling him down. Your hand is gripping onto his shoulder as he presses against your entrance. He reaches between you both and guides his tip into you. Your small gasps cause his jaw to clench as you wrap your other leg around his waist as he pushes in another inch.

“Aegon,” his name a plea.

“You’re doing so good.” he hums, pressing his lips against your neck. “You feel so good. My sweet girl with her perfect little cunny.” he grunts finally bottoming out.

“I’m so- I’m,” your voice cracks. “So full, Aegon.” you peel your eyes open to look up at him. “Please,” you gasp as he slowly starts to pull out. “Aegon,” your fingers dig into his shoulders at the stretch.

He attaches his thumb to your bud and starts to rock into you. You lock your ankles behind him as his movements slowly quicken. He smashes his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as his hips fall into you faster. With every swipe of his thumb your walls pulse around him until you’re whimpering into his mouth.

“Aegon, I’m-“ he watches as you tremble beneath him as you squeeze around him.

“Do you want me to fill your cunny?” he pants, pushing into you relentlessly. “Hm? Want me to fuck my seed into you? Do you want to swell with our child?” you nod your head babbling incoherently.

He snaps his hips into you one last time before you feel his pleasure seep into you. He sucks at your neck as he continues to pump into you slowly. You hold onto him tightly bringing your hands up to tangle into his hair. You pull him up to your mouth letting your tongues dance. He slowly pulls out and you furrow your brows trying to pull his hips back.

“Aegon, please,” you try to pull him back down.

“I know.” he rubs your legs slowly, kneeling back. He watches your body softly shake before you sit up and begin to crawl in his lap. “Gods, sweet girl.” he grunts as his hands grab onto your ass when you grind against him.

“I want you back inside.” you rub yourself against his cock.

“In a minute.” he chuckles, helping guide your movements.

“I want your cock now.” you whine. “Aegon, husband,” you whisper. “Please,” you reach for his hardening cock and he shakes his head at your desperation.

“Alright, alright.” he chuckles. “Lay back.” you cling onto him tighter so he holds onto you and lays you back on the bed. He goes to lift up and you whine pulling him back. “We’re gonna roll over.” you nod and he flips onto his back and you splay on his chest. “Do what you want.” he wants to see how desperate you truly are.

“My cunny really likes your cock.” you hum, rolling your hips against him. You grab his cock and run it up your slit, softly gasping as you circle it around your bud. “Yes,” you whine bringing the tip back down to your entrance. “Aegon,” he watches you slowly sink down, shutting your eyes once he’s buried in you.

“I need you to move, sweet girl.” his fingers dig into your waist. He slowly lifts you up and you press your hips back down. He lifts his knees up and you immediately lean back into them as you start to grind against him. “Fucking Hells,” he pants when you start to bounce against him. He moves his hands to your chest and when he pinches your nipples you start to move faster.

“Yes, please,” he watches your eyes close and he can’t take your slow movements anymore. His hands fall to your waist once more as he starts to fuck you against him. “I- Aegon,” you fall forward on his chest and he hammers up into you as you whimper into his ear.

“Taking my cock so well.” his hand lands on your ass and you jolt forward. “Your cunny is just begging to be filled again.” his pace falters when you begin to pulse around him. He regains his pace and listens to the gasps of his name as you slide against his chest. When his high begins to wash through him, he wraps his arms around you tightly, slowly pumping into you.

“Just stay inside.” you whisper in his ear, wiggling your hips. “I just-“ you gasp as he snaps his hips up once. “I just need to rest my eyes.” he watches as your eyes shut and you rest your cheek against his chest.

“I’m here. You can rest.” he presses his lips to the top of your head and begins to rub your back.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌

someone fkn sedate me i adore this man

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers @eternalwinters

#Aegon's Lip Gloss™️ goes dummy #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon the second #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader smut #aegon smut #aegon ii smut #aegon ii x you #x reader smut #x reader #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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mattslilies · 4 hours ago

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Oral Essay - M.S.

"go on, sweetheart, tell me what your topic is." or... the one where you miss a presentation due to oversleeping, and your professor graciously allows you to make it up. warnings: oral (f receiving), praise, slight mention of beard burn/facial hair kink(?? is that a thing??), fingering (f receiving), tad bit of degradation, professor!matt, student!reader, this takes place in college! both parties are 18+! word count: 1.5k a/n: i do not own professor!matt! credits go to whoever created the au's! this photo just made me think he was giving prof!vibes so here is the fic i dreamed up

you couldn't believe you'd overslept. this was one of your most important presentations of the entire semester. you'd been preparing for it for weeks, making sure that it was completely perfect, but here you were, struggling with the outcome of a drastic mistake.

you cared about your schoolwork. you really did. getting your degree meant so much to you, and you were absolutely furious with yourself over missing this assignment. this was the first mistake you had made all semester, and that fact gave you a little bit of comfort as you made your way to your professor's office, knowing his office hours were currently running. you were desperately hoping that he would be lenient, understanding that sometimes these things happen.

you knocked on the open door as you stepped into his office, quietly announcing your arrival before you spoke. he turned around in his chair, looking over at you, and you swallowed the nerves in your throat and the butterflies in your stomach as his gaze settled on your face.

you couldn't deny that he was incredibly attractive. he was the youngest professor the school had, which was no help to your fantasizing delusions. plus, with his face being freshly shaved, only a small bit of stubble decorating his jaw, you couldn't say you hadn't had any indecent thoughts.

shaking those thoughts away, you started to speak, his attention entirely fixated on you, but he beat you to it, motioning for you to close the door.

"you weren't in class today. you missed your presentation."

you closed your mouth, nodding, your mind wondering how he'd even noticed with the one hundred plus people in your lecture hall. but that didn't matter right now.

"yes. i overslept. is there any way that i can make it up? this grade means a lot to me and i spent a long time working on this presentation."

he hummed, turning back to his computer screen and scrolling through what appeared to be a gradebook. you caught a glimpse of your name. he was scrolling through your gradebook.

"you haven't missed or turned in late a single assignment this semester, nor have you missed a class."

you shook your head, agreeing.

"no, i haven't. my education is very important to me."

he turned back to you.

"i can see that. you're always focused in my class. that is, except when you're making small comments about my attractiveness to your friends here and there."

your jaw fell, not expecting to have been called out, nor knowing he had any idea about that. you started to defend yourself, but he didn't let you continue.

"i- um. i don't-"

"it's a lecture hall, your voice does carry. it's okay."

you were sure that your face was the color of his tie, a blazing red as heat rose to it.

how does one cope with the fact of their professor calling them out for calling them hot?

luckily, he continued, saving you the embarrassment of continuing to speak for yourself.

"that being said, overall, you're an excellent student. so, i'm going to be nice. i'll give you two options."

you nodded, waiting to hear whether or not your grade would take a massive nosedive, or if there was hope for you yet. he closed his laptop, moving a few things off of his desk, the clean wood shining underneath it.

"you missed an oral essay, so i think this offer is quite fair. you can sit up here and tell me about your topic while i get my mouth on you, for full credit..."

your ears started ringing with shock because there was absolutely no way he was proposing such a filthy idea. your breath hitched as his words processed, but he raised a hand, preventing you from speaking.

"or, you can redo your presentation wednesday, normally, for 75% credit."

he leaned back in his chair, a normal look on his face as if he hadn't just offered to eat you out as casually as if he was asking you when your next class was. you, on the other hand, were spiraling.

"both of these options are much more generous than i would normally give, but there's no pressure to take one or the other."

you couldn't believe the position you were in. you'd always found him gorgeous, and you'd daydreamed about knowing what his nose would feel like against your clit, what his beard would feel like against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs... you were smart, but it was a no brainer.

you gasped as he removed your panties, pushing your legs apart and dropping to his knees in front of his desk, pulling you closer to him.

"go on, sweetheart, tell me what your topic is."

you opened your mouth to speak but all that escaped was a whine as his tongue traced around your clit, gentle pressure that felt otherworldly as his hands held onto your thighs.

biting back a moan, you started speaking, having memorized the information, but it was broken here and there with whimpers and cries. your hand tightened in his hair as his tongue dipped lower, slowly fucking you with it as his nose rubbed perfectly against your clit.

"oh my god- yes, shit, that's perfect-"

a gravelly moan escaped him as you tugged harshly on his hair, and the vibrations scattered through you, your legs shaking around his head. he ate you out like a man starved, tongue everywhere all at once, his stubble dragging along your skin, the beginning of a burning sensation only serving to push you even closer to the edge.

he pulled back to catch his breath, speaking to you only once before diving back in.

"keep going. you want that grade, don't you?"

you nodded, whimpering as two of his fingers slid inside you, curling at the perfect angle. you felt so full of him that you could cry, the real thing better than any fantasy you could've dreamed up. the facts of your topic falling from your lips became less and less as they were replaced with loud moans, him dragging you right to a climax.

his fingers worked at a steady pace, his mouth leaving you as he pulled off, wanting to watch the way you fell apart from his touch.

"it's a little pathetic, sweetheart, how easily you took this option. desperately wanting my mouth on you, you were soaking wet before i even touched you."

you gripped his wrist, nails digging in hard.

"p-please, i- you're so- fuck!"

he grinned, loving the effect he had on you.

"yeah? i'm so what, sweetheart?"

you sobbed, every nerve ending in your body on fire.

"s-so mean!"

he laughed, only moving his fingers quicker.

"am i? i don't see you complaining. your pussy is sucking my fingers in just as fast as i can thrust him. she's dripping down my wrist, baby. seems like you like it when i'm mean to you."

his head dipped down, lips wrapping around your clit, the suction being too much for you as you nearly screamed, your legs closing around his head, juices pouring all over his face.

he licked you through it, gentle praises falling from his lips as he slowed his movements, knowing the feeling of overstimulation could be brutal.

"did so good for me, sweetheart, you sound so pretty, always loved your voice..."

he trailed off as you caught your breath, swiping tissues from his desk, putting a little water on them to soften the fabric and clean you up, gently pulling your underwear back up your legs and helping you down off his desk.

his hair was tousled, clear that someone had ran their hands through it. your stomach fluttered at the sight, your brain still refusing to believe what had just happened.

he sat you down in his desk chair, passing you a water bottle to drink from while he leaned over his laptop, pressing a few buttons on his keypad before turning the screen to you.

100%.

it glowed in front of you, your mind still reeling as you processed.

"a 100%? you haven't given anyone a 100% all semester. on anything."

he smiled, shrugging.

"what can i say? your work was exceptional."

you smiled back, standing once you felt your legs wouldn't crumple underneath you.

"you noticed i was absent today."

"i did."

"do you notice when any of your students are absent? or just the ones that think you're hot?"

he gave you a cocky smirk before replying.

"that's most of them, sweetheart. but no. just you."

"good."

his hand circled around your waist as he gently led you to the door, opening it.

"better get going, or someone might get suspicious."

you nodded, about to leave before he spoke again.

"i'll see you in class on wednesday."

it wasn't a question. there was no room for argument. even if you didn't care about school, he knew you were obsessed with him, and would be back every day class was held.

taglist <3

@courta13 @quinnynation @bowsandsturniolos @mqroonsturn @emely9274 @lizzyzzn @mattsbows @mattybsgroupie @sophand4n4 @leah-sturniolo @wr1tingsonthewall @sturns-mermaid @immaqulate @sweetshuga @user1smvtysturniolo @adoremattsturns @55sturn @chrisissobabygirl @backwardshatnick @jadest0ne @lezleeferguson-120 @sheluvsthesturniolos @faith5drpepper @thecrawlys @evansturn @eeyoresturnz @whore4chris @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @kier-with-a-k @chrissturnioloslvt @jessie-essie @rina3476 @lilolebambi @chrismyman @icamehere4fanfics @chrisbratt333 @jacsismattswife @sturncloud @a-m-b-e-r-r @tezzzzzzzz @starsashley00 @slut4chrisloads @dumb-b4mbi @sturnsxbbyeilish

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oogaboogasphincter · 2 months ago

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Cheeky Minx (Joel Miller x reader)

a/n: listen, i’m on my period and craving two things: snacks and joel miller. so apparently all you’re getting is joel fics centered around a snack of my choosing (re: peace offering).

warnings: mild swearing, joel being extra flirty (and a little corny lol), reader is referred to with she/her pronouns once but has no other description besides there’s a big (legal ofc!) age gap between them and joel | 561 words

You're on a road trip with Joel, climbing over the dusty hills of Texas. Some of Joel's favorite songs play softly on the radio, muffled by the old speakers of his well-loved truck. Right now, you're on a back road so Joel has rolled the windows down as you drive along at a cruising pace. The breeze is a nice reprieve from the bright sun that has been glaring through the windscreen all afternoon.

You unbuckle for a moment to root around in the backseat, earning a soft squeeze to your ass from Joel as he grumbles, "You're takin' too long, get back up here and put your seatbelt on before we get pulled over."

You just ignore him with a shake of your head and a soft chuff.

He teases, "You wanna add an indecent exposure charge to that ticket, ma'am?" He tugs at the waist of your shorts and you reach back to swat him away, eliciting a satisfied chuckle from your man.

After a little more searching, you find what you were looking for: a snack. You sit down and buckle back up, opening the crinkly bag and scooping a handful into your mouth. In the comfortably quiet cabin of the truck, you busy yourself with reading the labels on the bag as you eat.

"When did they add bagel chips to Chex Mix?" you wonder aloud.

"Huh?" Joel says.

"These little bagel chips, I don't remember them." You take one out of the bag, twirling the pale chip in your fingers before giving it a taste.

Joel shoots you a bemoaned look, his tone grumbling, "God... Sweetheart, please don't make me feel any older than I already do."

"What?" you ask, concern furrowing your brow.

He explains, "There was a whole deal about the makers pulling the bagel chips out of the mix around... I wanna say, 2010? People went crazy, signing petitions and picketing, didn't you watch the ne—?"

Joel cuts himself off as he looks over at you and your meager attempt to hide a knowing smirk. The realization dawns on him and he looks back at the road with a heavy sigh.

You begin, "I was—"

Joel holds up his hand and says, "Don't rub it in, sweetheart. You've already chastised me enough today about my music choice alone."

You chide teasingly, "You didn't let me finish my sentence."

He glances over wary, anticipatory.

"I was going to say I was too busy learning cursive to watch the news."

Joel grabs the bag with his free hand and gives it a playful tug, muttering through his teeth with faux malice, "Gimme this—"

You yell playfully, giggling, "No!"

He lets you win the fight easily. After a few moments of silence, he holds out his open palm and curls his fingers twice, "Lemme get one of those bagel chips." He has the gall to maintain that he doesn't act like a dad and yet he just pulled possibly the most dad-coded move of all time.

You bypass his hand and put one in his mouth, listening to him crunch through the starch. He reaches over to give your thigh a thankful squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel. Then... his face sours and he shoots a glare at the bag in your lap, mumbling over the dry crumbs, "Who the fuck wanted these back?"

main masterlist 🥯 join my taglist!

taglist: @pascalpanic @maievdenoir @pedrostories @uncassettodiricordi @harriedandharassed @scentedcandletidalwave @joelsflannel @oscar-wilde-thing

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel my beloved #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #tlou joel #joel the last of us #banner by cafekitsune #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou

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runninriot · 9 months ago

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Dirty Wishes On My Mind

written for @steddiesongfics and @steddiesmuttyseptember

inspired by the song FU In My Head by Cloudy June | SSS prompt: clothes on | rated: E | wc: 4.172 | tags: sexual content, indecent behaviour in public (but they don't get caught), dirty talk, dry humping, coming in pants, confessions, realisations, Eddie has a Crush on Steve, Steve has a Revelation, friends to lovers | complete fic on ao3

“I’m telling you, Stevie! That guy had no shame whatsoever. Didn’t even hesitate to pull blank in front of me to show off that ridiculous tattoo right above his dick. It was horrendous! I even offered to cover it up for free but he declined, said the ladies dig it.”

Eddie snorts and shakes his head. The things you have to put up with sometimes in his field of work never ceases to amaze him.

“But hey, can’t say I didn’t like the overall view. A feast for my imagination. I’ll definitely use it the next time I’m ‘feeling lonely’.”

He uses his fingers to sign quotation marks and wiggles his eyebrows, delighted at the blush creeping up Steve’s cheeks when he realises what Eddie means by that.

Steve’s always been a little shy when it comes to talking about these things but they’ve been friends long enough for him to have gotten used to Eddie’s big, unfiltered mouth.

Eddie loves to rile him up, just a little, never so much that it makes him truly uneasy but enough to get a little kick out of it himself.

Steve’s cute when he blushes.

He’s damn fucking pretty, always, is the thing.

So what if Eddie stares a little too obvious? It’s not his fault Steve is so-

Nevermind.

He averts his gaze, takes a sip from his drink to cool off, giving Steve the chance to change the subject to something else.

"Sometimes I fuck you in my head."

Eddie splutters his mouthful of beer half over himself, half over the table, can't believe he heard Steve right.

No. That must be a mistake because he can't possibly have said that.

Right?

"I don't know why, it's just- sometimes when I touch myself, I think of you, you know?"

Eddie does, in fact, not know. Because what?

"Steve, dude, look at me. Did you take something? Without me?"

He must've. There's no way he'd talk that much bullshit if he was sober. They've only been here for ten minutes, fifteen max, both still on their first beer and there is no way in hell Steve is already that drunk.

So this must be something else.

Because it is absolutely impossible that his straight best friend would ever fantasize about anything other than boobies and soft lips and long lashes and, hell, maybe even a tight juicy ass – a woman’s ass – to get him going. Steve Harrington does not think about guys when he touches himself. And most certainly not about Eddie.

He’s messing with him, that must be it. A little revenge for Eddie being insufferable.

“Hah, yeah you got me there, Harrington. For a second, I really thought you’d lost your mind,” Eddie laughs half-heartedly in a weak attempt to cover up the slight tremble in his voice.

For a second you got me thinking my pining ass died and went to heaven, is the thought he keeps to himself.

Another second goes by and Eddie is still waiting for Steve to laugh, to maybe swat his arm and tell him ‘Ha! Got’cha! You should see your stupid face.’ but that doesn’t happen. Instead, the air thickens and the tension between them makes Eddie nervous.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Steve opens his mouth.

But somehow, that only makes it worse.

“Is- is that bad?”

Steve turns away, eyes now locked on his own hand where it’s wrapped tightly around his bottle. Something in his friend’s demeanour shifts; it’s like he’s slowly sinking into himself, like he’s trying to hide.

“Stevie, hey.” Eddie brings his thumb and finger to Steve’s chin, using gentle force to make him look back up again.

He seems so small all of a sudden, sad somehow, but he huffs out an awkward laugh and rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I don’t even know why I said that.”

Heat spreads in every part of Eddie’s face, up to his ears and down to his chest and his heart skips a beat because-

Steve didn’t take it back. He didn’t confirm Eddie’s assumption of it being a joke, no. He apologised because he thinks he did something wrong.

“It’s not bad, Steve. I’m just- a little confused.”

Eddie’s hand moves on its own account, wanders higher up, fingertips lightly dancing across his jaw line and over his cheek until they reach Steve’s hair line just above his ear where he can’t help but dive deeper into his soft strands.

He doesn’t miss the moment Steve’s eyes flutter shut for a too long second, and how his lips slightly part when he lets out a sigh.

“Why would you think of me when you’re- I thought you’re-“

Straight, Eddie struggles to say, fears it would come out wrong, maybe sound like an insult which it is not.

Of course, not. Everyone’s free to love and like whatever and whoever they want. It’s just- it bothers Eddie more than he likes to admit because Steve being straight means that he’ll never have a chance.

That his stupid heart will forever be suffering because his best friend will never be more than that. Not his lover, not his partner, only his friend. And that’s okay, that’s fine, perfect even. It’s more than Eddie could hope for.

But that’s exactly what makes it so hard to wrap his head around Steve’s unexpected confession. That’s why it takes Eddie’s breath away when Steve leans into his touch, pupils blown wide in the cosy light of the bar.

“I-“ Steve stops himself, digs his teeth into his bottom lip as if to prevent any more words from slipping out.

Eddie feels like he’s in trance, doesn’t even know what he’s doing until it’s too late, until his hand has already wandered back down, thumb touching soft flesh when he pulls it free from Steve’s bite, lingering there, tracing the seam – he can’t stop, can’t not push between parted lips where Steve welcomes him with just a hint of tongue, warm and wet.

And Eddie has to swallow a startled moan.

---

continue reading here

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie fic #steddiesongfics #steddie smutty september #steddie events

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garden-of-rambles · 2 months ago

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Some Odysseus/Odypen headcanon ramblings that have been on my mind while writing my fic:

So one of the tags on my story is ‘Odysseus is touched starved’ and for me it feels like such a natural conclusion about his character in general, and the way he interacts with Penelope.

Like, he became King at thirteen, when his dad was in the process of losing himself entirely. He had to "be the man of the house" and take care of everyone else around him, even those that originally would have taken care of him, like his father, or his mother who was preoccupied helping care for her husband/and would know that Odysseus had to step forward as a man sooner than he should have. And of course his younger sister was always someone that he helped take care of, not the other way around.

He is never just Odysseus after that, even among those who are considered close to him. He is King. He is Captain. He is the one who leads and looks after those in his care, and if that means there's no one to do that for him, well...he just gets used to it. He ignores the longing for it that remains, crawling beneath his skin and twisting in his stomach. It's not like he has a choice. That doesn't mean his family or friends didn't try to help, but once Odysseus took on those roles he couldn't be the one seeking comfort, the one needing care or instruction. So many of the comforting and loving touches he had received during childhood just lessen and lessen until they hardly happen at all. He is the man of the house. He is King. He is Captain. He is the one who offers assurance, not the one who needs it. Sometimes there are pats on the shoulder, or brief embraces, but he is usually the one giving them. And it's nice, always, that momentary contact, but they're not ones he wants to linger in. The idea of anyone else reciprocating is...uncomfortable, like clothing that chafes, because this is his role, who he is, what he must define himself by.

Then, of course, he meets Penelope. And the desire for touch is utterly overwhelming. Not just in a sexual way -- though there certainly is that -- but in every way.

The first time, it's such an incidental moment, perhaps only a second or two of contact. They had been talking at night beneath their olive tree -- a name he had already begun to call it by in his mind after just a few meetings -- and he had been in the middle of saying something, telling a story, likely just to make her laugh. But he couldn't say what he'd been talking about, because while he's mid-sentence -- without thought, as if it were the most natural thing to do -- Penelope reaches over, and pulls a twig with some olive leaves from his hair. He hadn't even noticed it caught there, but the barest brush of her fingers makes him speechless. He forgot whatever he had been saying, even as Penelope eyed him in confusion, waiting for him to finish, but he can't, because the only words that would come from his mouth would be him asking her to do that again.

It gets worse after that, but in a way he doesn't want to stop.

He craves it. More than food or water. Maybe even more than the air he breathes. Wanting to touch her he understood, and it was an equal desire that left him constantly stopping himself during the early days of their courtship, when touching where others could see would only get them in trouble. Still, his hands itch to move toward her, to guide her arm or thread her fingers through his, to hold her and kiss her and then do far more indecent things. But how much he needs her to touch him is the surprise, and one he is not prepared for, cannot be prepared for. As they grow closer and it happens more and more, it's as if his need only increases, and it's so strong he doesn't know what to do with it except try to hold it back, as if afraid that somehow this craving would consume them both if he let it.

Penelope notices, of course. She notices everything. It was one of the first things he loved about her.

When she asked if he didn't want her to touch him, for a wild moment he wanted to laugh and cry. Thousands of words get tangled in his throat, all of them inadequate to describe how he not only wants her touch, always, but needs it.

"I want it," He finally can manage. "More than you know."

She nodded, and when she looked at him again with a little smile and a cunning glint in her eyes, he realized her first question had been meant only to reveal this. To get him to admit it.

She tricked him. It left him stunned, dizzy, awed. Somehow more in love with her than he had already been.

"Then do not deprive yourself," She replied, smiling wider. "Or me."

He couldn't, after that. And never was able to again.

sooo uhhhh being touched starved definitely didn't get worse after being away from his wife and son for so long, no no why do you ask??? Its not like the ache of being away from the only people he feels he can be vulnerable around feels like it's actually killing him some days, nope, definitely not.

Anyways, this is something I'm really trying to get across in my own fic, because it just feels so true to his character for me, so I had to word vomit about it for a bit.

#odypen #odysseus/penelope #epic the musical #odypen headcanon #epic the musical headcanon #odysseus x penelope #odypen brainrot #my fic #odysseus is touch starved #writing rambles #then of course when he's finally home all of this crashes over in a bigger tidal wave than poseidon threatened him with #and for weeks/months even years after he has to make excuses to just go and hug his wife and son bc not touching them causes lowkey panic #but of course they're more than happy to oblige #and feel fairly similiarly #Penelope at that point is certainly as touch starved for him as he is for her #also lmao that got wayyy longer than I meant it to #and it kinda half became a little ficlet on its own haha #odypen fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

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The Man 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Lloyd wheezes and rubs his chest. You look down at him from the other side of chaise. You have to fight to keep the grin from your face. Your eyes slowly drift to the door.

“Don’t even fucking think—of it,” he huffs as he kicks the chaise into your leg. You wince and let out an ow, “you’re in big fucking trouble now, baby face.” He rolls onto his shoulder and presses his hand to the floor, “fuck.”

“Sir, I didn’t do anything--”

“You know what the fuck you did,” he snarls as he sits up.

“I did nothing. I’m sorry I’m weak,” you pout, “I couldn’t hold on--”

“Oh my piss!” He pushes himself up to his feet, standing straight with effort, “you don’t stop. You’re going to drive me fucking nuts.”

You’re quiet as you watch him. Is he not already there? He kidnapped you pretty much and hates you but won’t let you leave. It really seems insane to you.

“Sir, with all due respect, I have offered to leave you alone.”

“You just need to learn to shut your mouth,” he stomps around the chaise.

You scramble into action and back away from him, making a circle around the piece of furniture as he advances, “now, sir,” you put your hands up, “I thought we were having fun. Playing a little game and you know when you play games, you can get hurt.”

“Stop, come here,” he snarls as he gets closer and you hop backwards to evade his reach.

“That seems like a bad idea.”

“I said stop!”

“You say stop but your eyes say run,” you babble.

“This is your problem. You just don’t get who’s in charge. Me. I am!” His voice rises to a roar.

Your eyes round, “I get it, F—Lloyd, I truly understand it. My dad too was a strict man.”

“Dad? What the fuck are you talking about?”

You continue your circles around the chaise, dizzy as you stagger on your heels.

“I’m saying that I have known men like you--”

“You’re comparing me to your dad?”

“Well, I’m no fan of Freud by any means--”

“Jesus!”

He lunges and you dodge out of his way. He hits the square side table and you yipe. You don’t think you just go. You spin on your feet and race for the door. You let your adrenaline do the thinking as you rip it open and stumble into the hall.

You won’t get far. You’re not stupid. You’re naked as sin and if you leave the house, you see a quick trip in a cruiser for indecent exposure. Still, you might find somewhere to wait out his rage. Just like with your dad.

Alright, let’s cool it on the daddy issues here.

You pump your arms as your feet slap on the floor. He’s following you. You can hear him. Like a charging bull. You can’t look back. You won’t.

You veer around the corner and don’t have time to think. You don’t know where the heck you’re going. Far away from him is the only option you have. You barrel down the next hall, chest burning, head spinning. You keep going as your puffing fills your head and smothers out his pursuit.

You can’t go any further. You have to stop. You have to hide!

You open a door. Shit. It’s a closet but hey, there’s blankets. No time to think, just get in. You climb in an pulled down one of the folded waffle blankets. You shut the door, closing yourself into darkness and wrap yourself in the coveted warmth of the cotton.

You hear him catch up. He’s just on the other side of the door. He growls and his heel squeaks on the floor. He paces back and forth, opening this door and that. He might think you’re smart enough not to choose the linen closet but that means he’s learned nothing.

You wait until he’s gone. You shake your head. Having a big house is such a hassle. You can’t imagine cleaning a place like this, although he is the type to hire a cleaner so he probably doesn’t either. Still, what if you lost your phone in here?

You let the tension flow out and lean back against the wall, keeping your neck bent under the shelf. You sit, folded up in the cramped space, and resign yourself to the tight purgatory. He just needs a minute. He’ll exhaust himself with his tantrum and then you’ll be okay.

Besides, it seems pretty easy to distract. A few strokes and he’s compliant. Just like a cat. Not to mention he has the whiskers too.

👄

Despite the uncomfortable circumstance you’ve stuffed yourself into, you fall asleep. There’s something about a traumatic experience that really takes it out of you. You don’t realise you’ve dozed off until the world falls out from under you and you sprawl out on the floor outside the closet.

Your shoulder hits the cold wood and a woman lets out an exclamation, “Mr. Hansen! Mr. Hansen! There’s--” She sputters as she stares down at your dopey eyes, blinking up at her as reality slowly seeps back in, “there’s a woman!”

She flutters off and you watch after her. That must be the cleaner. How’d you call it?

As you sit up, you hear the echoing footsteps. It’s too late. You’re a goner. You clear your throat and cling to the blanket as you stand to face the music, rather, the mustache.

Lloyd charges down the hall with long strides. You peer around, realising the windows are rather bright, also noting his change of clothes. Either you slept through the night or that closet has time traveling capabilities.

“There the fuck you are,” he sneers.

“Hello, sir, fine morning--”

“Don’t,” he stops in front of you and points in your face, “here’s the deal, alright? We start over.”

“So if we’re going back to the beginning, can I go home--”

“Zip. It.” He chops the air with his hand. “You’re not leaving, let’s get that clear. Now, you are not here to talk or do whatever it is you do. You are here to serve me. You are here because you need to learn a thing or two about authority. About who the fuck I am.”

“Lloyd Jansen,” you mumble and his face pales as the vein in his forehead throbs. “Hansen!” You say louder, “understood, sir.”

“Why are you like this?” He asks.

You stare at him. You’re going to try. The olive branch he extends is brittle and thin but it’s something.

“I will be good, sir,” you put your chin, “I’ll try. I accept. Start again.” You keep yourself from saluting and instead, extend your hand to him, “deal?”

He stares you in the face then looks down at your hand. He exhales and his cheek twitches. He reaches to shake your hand firmly. He grips tightly until your bones ache. You whimper and wilt.

“Please, for the love of god,” he begs as he holds onto you, “stop talking for five minutes.”

You can’t agree. Not aloud. So, you seal your lips emphatically and nod. He lets you go and you look at your wrist but there’s no watch there. You glance at him and shrug, holding up five fingers. He sighs and pinches his nose.

“Just don’t talk unless I tell you too.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #mob au #au #the man #the gray man

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biowaredisasterbisexual · 28 days ago

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Sharing Sunday - May 11th

Happy Mother’s Day to those who celebrate it, and yay for SHARING SUNDAY! We’ve got a good mix of stuff this week, with fics from Dragon Age and Baldur’s Gate, so several tasty treats for us all as we head into the week. Thanks so much to everyone who shared this week: you all are awesome!

- From @bestboyargos, a sweet Neverook fic featuring wonderful moments with found family! Fluff through and through.

- @katuary is back with an Astarion/Tav offering from Baldur’s Gate 3, and its name makes me smile: The Absolute Worst Way to Introduce Strange Cats. From the summary: “Fresh off the Nautiloid crash, Lily finds a stranger asking for help on the beach. Turning her back on him is not the wisest decision she's ever made (and that's saying something).”

- On offer from @zennihilation is Earned Respite, a post-game Bellarook fic. From the author: “Months after the events of Veilguard, Juan is finally allowed to bring their girlfriend home for dinner. Just a fluff piece.”

- @chaosherald presents Conductivity, a Rookanis missing scene fic. From the author: “Rook is injured fighting the Formless One. Lucanis has some thoughts on the situation.

Two awkward souls dance around the things they want and need and cannot say and commit indecent acts of intimacy (they hold hands.)

A missing scene in the Rook and Lucanis courtship, post almost kiss in the pantry and pre Inner Demons.”

Happy reading!!

#sharing sundays #sharing Sunday #dragon age fanfic #baldur’s gate fanfiction #dragon age #baldur’s gate 3 #Neverook #astarion/tav #bellarook #rookanis #other cool folks fanfic

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tsukimefuku · 1 year ago

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nanamin ❖ nanami kento

summary: you decide to ask nanami why he keeps getting called ‘nanamin’.

tags: jujutsu kaisen, f!reader, soft/implied nanami x reader, crack drabble, reader is a relentless little devil.

wc: 0.4K

notes, etc: this poor, poor man. this drabble references wardrobe malfunction.

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

“So… I couldn’t help but notice Yuuji keeps calling you ‘Nanamin’ like Gojo used to do,” you noted as you were both walking down the streets of Tokyo towards your next mission.

He involuntarily sighed as he answered, “yes, he does.”

“So… Why is that?”

“I couldn’t say. Kids are… Something.”

“Gojo isn’t a k-” you halted for a second, as Nanami looked at you, and you proceeded with, “you know what, nevermind.”

After a few seconds, you felt the urge creeping up on you.

The teasing demon was taking hold.

“Hey, what if I called you Nanamin?”

“I’d slap you,” he answered, not missing a beat.

You chuckled lightly.

“You’re way above hitting me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he answered, in his characteristically nonchalant way. “Why are you so hellbent on nicknaming me since… always?”

“Because it’s fun!” you replied, grinning widely, “it’s a way to show you appreciate someone, and that you get to poke fun at them with affection and such.”

He looked at you and lifted an eyebrow.

“Should I start calling you public indecency then, considering the time you called me to lend you some clothes because you blew yours up in the middle of a mission?”

You stopped in your tracks immediately, and blushed for a second.

Nanami realized he might have taken this a little too far, knowing he could come off as harsh sometimes.

“N-nanami, I-I… I mean… Uh…”

You were stuttering for a moment, remembering the silly debacle.

“I… I apologize,” he offered in earnest, as you were still standing there, looking away.

To be fair, your embarrassment was real in the first few moments, but realizing he was actually feeling bad about it kind of stirred up your antics. So you kept going.

“I mean, we had an agreement we’d never talk about it again… how could you…?” you remarked in the most gut wrenching way possible.

Even under his stoic facade, he seemed to pale.

“I’m truly sorry, I really didn’t mean to… I-”

The man was faltering.

You couldn’t hold your laughter, and when he realized what you were doing, his eyes were completely taken by annoyance.

“Were you pretending to be mortified?”

“Not in the beginning, but your face-” you interrupted yourself with another cackle.

He sighed and resumed his stride, saying, “I am not addressing you for the remainder of the day.”

Wiping a few tears from your face, you sprinted slightly to follow him.

“Oh, come on, Nanamin… Don’t sulk… Nanami? Nanami!”

He did, in fact, ignore you for the rest of the day.

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wolfboy88 · 2 months ago

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Fuck it Friday Monday

Tagged by @thiamsalpha @thiamsxbitch @ksbbb @rhyslahey @mmoosen and many others over the last few weeks… I haven’t been writing as much as I would like lately

“Yeah, thanks, I’m fine,” Theo grumbles as no one offers to help him. “I’ll heal.”

“I know, you’re like the cockroach that won’t die,” Stiles smiles and is quickly chastised by Scott.

Liam whacks Stiles on the back of the head with his giant paw to the squeals and delights of the kids and says something muffled, but Theo knows it’s in defense of him.

“Aww, thanks babe,” Theo says, fondly reaching up to straighten the crooked bunny head perched atop Liam’s shoulders and in response, Liam snares him in a bear hug.

“Getting a bit handsy there. You really want everyone to know I’m fucking the Easter bunny, huh?” Theo murmurs, voice low and fond as Liam’s hands – paws – sneak lower and give his ass a squeeze. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” The chimera suppresses a groan, heat coiling in his belly and creeping down his groin as his hands fall to Liam’s plush, fluff chest, feeling the softness between his fingers. And mmm, that feels nice.

“Mr Bunny, I found the big one!” Interrupts Sierra’s voice.

“No! I did,” comes the nasally voice of Lydia and Stiles’ brat.

Theo groans, simultaneously annoyed and relieved at being interrupted. The last thing he needs is to pop a boner right now in the backyard. “I think I know where I can find an even bigger one,” Theo murmurs against Liam’s neck, right where the mask meets the rest of the costume.

“Alright, come one you heathens,” Stiles chides, exasperated. “Stop hogging the Easter Bunny’s attention and let him get back to his job: the egg hunt.”

“Yeah, Uncle Theo! Let us finish the hunt!” Thomas says, sounding just like his father – impatient, irritating and a little neurotic. Too bad he didn’t end up more like his mother.

“It’s not my fault the Easter Bunny finds me irresistible,” Theo smirks smugly, only to be rewarded with another long, and indecent grope from Liam before Stiles all but drags him away.

Theo shakes his head fondly and tries to tamp down on his inappropriate thoughts because he’s definitely not thinking about what those paws would feel like on his bare skin… and ass.

A snippet from a forthcoming Easter Fic

Tagging @chasing-chimeras @theoceanismyinkwell @hemlocksandfoxgloves @blue-hair-and-angels @gayholloway @outcastpack @transdunbar @gayholloway @maplesyrizzup @rd-eternity

#snippet #Easter fic #my writings #thiam

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thefanficmonster · 1 year ago

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Heavy Metal Lover pt.2

PART 1

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smoking, Paranormal Investigations, Drinking, Swearing, Suggestive Content, Vague Sexual Themes

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Angst with a happy ending, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right? Or at least that's what Y/N and Colby hope is the case.

NOTE: Sam and Kat are still together in this fic. This detail is not meant to be disrespectful to Sam's current girlfriend in any way.

A rude reminder in the form of dizziness and nausea hits Y/N like a ton of bricks when she sits up all too quickly for her state. A reminder of her excessive partying last night. She was aware the night wouldn't be on a list of her proudest moments for a multitude of reasons even as she was actively indulging interested men in the club - so, she just went with it. Went along with the unruly stream of the river that is a wild night in Vegas. She's not at all pleased with the memory of her eagerness to end the night in someone else's bed - which would've been a mission successful had she not been dragged away from this one guy whose name she can't even recall now. That, in and of itself, is enough of an indication that going home with him or taking him back to her hotel room would've been a bad idea.

She isn't entirely certain who saved her from herself in her active pursuit of a one night stand but her foggy memory suggests it may have been Kat. Y/N would love to thank her for the intervention but a quick roll over to her other side reveals her best friend to still be in her bed, solidly asleep at the ripe early hour of....- she checks her phone - noon.

The most appropriate of times to wake up in Vegas, really.

With a brief outfit change into something that wouldn't get her in trouble for indecent exposure she quietly exits the room as to not disturb Kat who is barely giving any signs of life other than the slow rise and fall of her chest. That's good enough to convince Y/N she'll be ok while she goes to fetch them coffee to get them through the day - their last whole day in Vegas.

Their schedule isn't as packed as yesterday's, thankfully. Unlike the turmoil of the flight, hotel check-in, Oasis investigation and the very late night bar crawl, today they only have the last two items on their itinerary: another investigation and an even later bar crawl. Maybe some gambling if they manage to squeeze it in before they have to take an hour long roadtrip to yet another motel with a shady past and paranormal intrigue.

The hallway is wobbly in front of Y/N, her vision still under the influence of all the tequila - and everything else Kat offered her - she ingested last night. Shot after shot, each thrown back with a silent prayer that it would aid her forgetfulness into erasing whatever happened at the Oasis Motel from her mind. If anything, each drop of alcohol only made it clearer, bringing to light details that were shadowed in the overall power the moment held.

The softness of his lips, warmth of his hands, the scent of his cologne, the weight of his body pressed atop hers on the bed. She was reliving it the whole night as she did her best to avoid him entirely. Talking to him, looking at him, being in the vicinity of his aura, breathing in his direction. And yet she still felt him all around her, all over her. A sensation not even the hottest boiling shower wouldn't wipe off her skin.

Now, if only she could pretend to be blind, deaf and not fluent in English because there's no other way to avoid the oncoming figure without making the lingering awkward tension even thicker...

"Hey."

Neither Y/N nor Colby looks particularly pleased with the fact that the silence had to be broken. Still, unlike her, he should've prepared himself better seeing as how he actively went in search of her. After all, the two cups of coffee in his hand are for her and Kat.

The warmth seeping in through the walls of the cups reminds him of the reason he took this venture in the first place and gives him an easy out of this silence that has befallen them. Still, he lingers in the buzzing quiet between them for a few seconds longer before extending the low-key peace offering her way, "Thought you and Kat could use a pick-me-up."

It's more so testing the waters than a peace offering. There never was nor will there ever be peace between them. As much of a natural disaster as they are, it would be far more detrimental to the planet if they were to put an end to their war and start getting along. It would cause a disturbance on a fundamental level. But after what happened back at the forsaken motel, Y/N would be a fool to think he too isn't as impacted as her.

Colby from 24 hours ago would never bring her coffee. If anything, he'd bring only one cup for Kat, just to prove a point. So much for pretending like nothing happened...

"Which one is poisoned?" Y/N, on the other hand, is better at this play pretend. The whirlwind of emotions and flashbacks manage to stay exactly where they're supposed to be - inside her head. Not an ounce spills over into her body language, expression or words.

Her question almost fills him with relief. Almost. It's a double-edged bitter sword. On one hand, he'd like nothing more than to let things settle back into normality. On the other, he doesn't want to forget what happened between them. Scratch that, let me rephrase - it's not like he can forget what happened. It's been permanently etched into his brain and there is no reversing that process. He simply doesn't want to pretend nothing happened.

When, in fact, everything happened at once. Seven years of animosity crashed and molded together in one burning kiss that had a lot of potential to lead further. But neither of them allows their thoughts to wander down that path.

"It's a gamble." He shrugs all too casually, his outward demeanor not at all corresponding with his internal turmoil.

Y/N can't help but snort at his remark. In the seven years they've known each other, a snort or a scoff is the closest he's managed to get to provoking a laugh from her. She'd never give him that satisfaction, especially not now.

"You better pray nothing happens to Kat or I'll end you." Despite the bite of her words, she still accepts the cups she's being offered. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. Still, she's particularly mindful in avoiding any sort of contact between their hands in the process.

Colby shakes his head with a sigh, "Sheesh, I'm never doing you a good deed ever again."

Y/N allows herself one second of vulnerability - letting her eyes trail over to his tired ones. She sees her own emotions reflected back at her and it only worsens the hangover nausea in the pit of her stomach. That's mainly why the words that leave her mouth end up sounding so bitter, "I'd rather you didn't."

With that, she turns on her heel and makes her way back to her and Kat's shared room, paying no mind - or at least trying not to - to the silence she leaves trailing behind her, suggesting Colby is still in the exact spot, watching her go.

He's used to it, though. He's been watching her go for seven years now, never once having the courage to grab ahold of her before she's out of reach.

* * * * *

Their casino trip was a blur of disappointment and strings of curses before they chose to end it and hop in the car to head over to the Redfield Motel with only a couple earned and many lost dollars in - or missing from - their pockets. Kat abstained from the majority of the gambling to keep an eye on the competitive three that lost far more money than they're willing to admit.

"Hope we have more luck with the paranormal." Sam jokes as the car pulls into the small parking lot of the old but still classy-looking motel that, in comparison to the Oasis, looks like a five star resort.

With that, the gang exits the car with newfound enthusiasm - more so aimed at the partying they'll indulge in after this investigation. Sam and Kat grab the camera equipment while Y/N slings the strap of the duffle bag containing all the investigation equipment over her shoulder. However, she's barely taken five steps away from the car before the bag is swiped from her grasp.

She's not given any time to comprehend what just happened and can only glare at the back of Colby's head as he walks in front of her, not sparing her even s fleeting look.

It's so....normal, for lack of a better term. It's the kind of pettiness Kat swears is their own twisted love language. It's so '24 hours ago' it almost eases her mind.

Almost

And fuck does she hate that word.

"Welcome!" The motel owner meets them at the main entrance with a smile, "I'm Sharon. So happy to be giving you a tour tonight. Our little motel has never really been the most popular and I'm hoping to maybe get the public interested in it. We're opening for official business in about a month which is why we can't have you guys staying the night here. I hope that's not a problem in any way." She explains as she leads them inside in the lobby decorated in a 1920's style reminiscent of Hotel Cortez.

It does elicit a bit of suspicion among the group - the popularity seeking right before a grand reopening, the overall horror aesthetic of the décor, the ominous piano music playing from the carefully disguised sound system. Sam and Colby are no stranger to paranormal baiting from establishments that, at the end of the day, only ever wanted the publicity. It's always been a slippery slope that usually a Google search would be enough to settle but they can never be too sure. Each time they visit an established or in the process of re-establishment hotels or motels, it's a gamble for their reputation and authenticity.

Y/N is a lot less concerned with the honesty behind the supposedly paranormal stories Sharon is currently sharing with them. She's all too focused on appearing composed and relaxed in front of the camera. The blinking red light is almost taunting her, reminding her that she can't let her mask slip off for even a second. No matter the fact that Colby's arm is brushing against her each time either of them moves.

"I'm not sure if I mentioned this over the phone, but I am also a Priestess. I've been calling myself a medium for the longest time until I was corrected by my daughter who's done a bit more research in the terminology and stuff." Sharon's words snap Y/N out of her raging thoughts, momentarily breaking her intense awareness of the camera. Following the motion of the older woman's hands, she sees a small suitcase that has been prepped open to reveal a Ouija board, Tarot cards and scattered crystals among other items.

Although a fan of the paranormal, she's never managed to fully shake the uneasiness that the sight of a Ouija board brings on. Still, she manages to swallow it down and not show it. God forbid she gives Colby the opportunity to mock her again. She might actually deck him this time, her nerves are that haywire.

"We've worked with a Priestess before but we never got to properly understand how that title is different from a medium." Sam says, balancing the camera's weight on his right shoulder as to give his arm a small break.

Sharon gives a small chuckle at his statement, motioning to the deck of Tarot cards and Ouija board, "Well, I can make a rather accurate estimation of your past and future as well as communicate with spirits. I cannot see them, though. I can also do a protection ritual. From what I understand you put yourselves in a lot of potentially dangerous situations without much care for your safety."

Yeah, well, she isn't far from the mark. And all four members of the group know that, which is why they are quick to agree to the protection ritual.

"Can we also have our cards read?" Colby suddenly inquires, earning him the puzzled looks of his friends, "It'd be interesting to see if the reading aligns with what the last Priestess told us."

Sam takes less than a second to agree, thrilled at the idea of putting the cards - and their readers - to the test. Kat and Y/N, although not nearly as thrilled to have their future read - in their case, for the first time ever - they don't disagree. Instead, they exchange a somewhat encouraging 'why not?' look and press onward, following Sharon and the guys into the ballroom like restaurant of the motel.

A insight and guidance Tarot spread is laid out on one of the tables, each card picked out by the person whose turn it is as they get told their futures one by one with Kat going first - an act to encourage her best friend to follow suit after seeing the positive overview she got. Y/N's is a bit more wishy-washy with no certainty of anything bad happening in her future but still there seemed to be an undertone of weariness to each card she picked. Sam was completely in awe of how identical this reading was to his last one, so much so he didn't even really pay much mind to what the future may hold. And lastly, it is Colby's turn.

His reading goes without a hitch - again, as was the case with Sam's - eerily identical to the one he got back at the Conjuring house. That is until...

"Is it against any rules for me to ask a question on his behalf?" His best friend interferes just as the reading is about to come to a close.

Sam ignores the puzzled arch of Colby's eyebrow and focuses his attention on Sharon who shakes her head, "Not at all. What would you like to know?"

The smile on the blonde's face, although sneaky, has a small tinge of apology as he gives Colby a brief glance before asking the question he was pondering voicing since before the reading even started, "Colby has never had much luck in the love department, not by fault of his own, though." The last part is added after a two second delay during which Colby didn't bother hiding the comical offense he took to Sam's implications. It provoked a genuine laugh from Y/N and Kat who are now operating the camera as a team effort in order to keep the two targets in frame and capture each of their reactions. "So...can we get some insight on that? What can we do to change that?"

Sharon doesn't even attempt to stifle the laugh Sam's words elicit. It's far from the first time she's been asked this question in her career but the phrasing of this one specifically is quite amusing. Luckily, she can help.

"I doubt there's much you can do for him." She says, causing Sam's face to comically fall into a faux frown, causing Colby and the girls to cackle. Afterwards, her attention is turned to her reading subject, "However, I can give you a brief love spread reading if you'd be open to it."

Being open to it Colby is most definitely not, especially on such a sore topic. But he'd never allow himself to let his audience down like that. Just like Y/N, there are times he's too aware of the camera for his own good. Sure, this part can be edited out later but that would alter the authenticity of the entire experience. So, with a suppressed sigh he decides 'what the hell' and agrees to withstand a love reading.

He picks his cards and flips them over in the order Sharon instructs him, watching intently as the furrow of her brows deepens as she observes the combination of three cards on the table. "Huh..." She tilts her head to the side, confused.

Her reaction is far from what Colby expected or wanted to hear. In his head he's already made a plan of adopting a dozen cats and buying a house in the woods when Sharon finally speaks up again. "Am I right in assuming that you're single at this moment in time?"

Although taken aback by the question, Colby still nods, "Yes. Have been for the past couple of years, actually." He's so ready to get revenge on Sam as soon as fucking possible for putting him in this position even though he knows he's coming from a place of love and care.

Sharon chuckles, her eyebrows lifting impossibly high, "If I may be brutally honest with you - it seems like it's your fault." Seeing Colby's face morph in horror, she hurries to offer an explanation, "You see, what the cards are telling me is that you've already met 'the one' and..." she taps the middle card which just happened to be The Lovers, "...there's nothing standing in the way of you two being together. Had you not confirmed that you're single, I would've thought you two are already in a relationship."

Sam and Kat are busy exchanging a mixed set of looks - his rather surprised and hers bordering onto grateful. They both know why he brought up the question and Kat is extremely thankful that he's still supporting her matchmaking agenda. And good thing they were busy with their telepathic communication, otherwise they would've seen the not-at-all subtle moment of vulnerability between their friends.

A moment of weakness. A moment in which they both seemed to have lost control of their motor skills and their sense of rationality. The revelation sent Colby's head snapping directly in Y/N's direction, his eyes meeting hers and mirroring the terror they saw there. Her body is rigid much like his own. Their faces are painted with a look of horror no paranormal entity has ever managed to provoke from them. It's a look that is begging for reassurance, asking the silent question 'there's no way, right?'

Had this happened 24 hours ago, it would've been a laughing matter. Now, it's a cause for massive discomfort and uneasiness. Because, no matter how in denial they wanna be, the suspicious 'what if?' lingers at the back of their minds.

24 hours ago he would've been disgusted at the idea. He would've been adamant that if she in fact is the one, he'd rather die alone. Not that he'd ever think it plausible.

But now...

"So, what you're saying is..." Kat breaks the silence, looking between Sharon and a distressed Colby, "He needs to pull his head out of his ass as soon as possible?"

The Priestess nods, "Pretty much. Both him and his potential partner need to give each other a shot. Preferably soon. By the sound of it, it's already been too long."

If Colby didn't know any better, he'd be offended. Or rather, he would find it in himself to be offended if he wasn't still prowling through his brain to find a branch to grasp onto in this emotional flood. A twinge of rationality to comfort him, reassure him he's being ridiculous. That this is ridiculous.

Yet a part of him, a self-sadistic - or, well, masochistic - part of him hopes it may be true.

Y/N on the other hand wants to puke and for the first time today it has nothing to do with last night's tequila. She's horrified by the way her heart fluttered the moment their eyes met. She wishes she could grab ahold of her heart and physically slow it down because she's a few beats short of a heart attack right now.

When Kat's hand lands on her arm, her soul nearly evaporates from her body. "Shit, girl, sorry. Didn't mean to freak you out." Her best friend apologizes, squeezing Y/N's hand in an attempt to calm her down, "You ok?"

Nodding rapidly, the girl hurries to reassure her very worried friend, "Yeah I just spaced out, no worries."

Although clearly unconvinced, Kat doesn't press on. She's always approached Y/N like a wounded wild animal, worried she might shut herself away if she feels like she's being put under pressure. Or worse, she'd hate to lose her friendship if she were to bring up her theory of whatever might be going on between her and Colby. She can only imagine how badly she'd flip out if she were to find out.

So, Sam and Kat alike have long decided to never let either Y/N or Colby find out their agenda.

"If you say so...", with a small nod Kat motions to the bag on the floor as she balances the one she's holding, "Could you grab that? We're gonna leave them at the front desk before we go to the diner."

The last thing Y/N's unruly stomach wants right now is food but there's no way in hell she's gonna say anything and garner further suspicion from her friends. So, she nods in agreement, watching Kat as she follows Sam out in the hall before turning to pick up the appointed bag.

And suddenly her hand's been burned.

Both her and Colby jump back when the unexpected skin-to-skin contact brought on the feeling of an acid burn.

He wants to apologize, though there is nothing to really apologize for. It's such a miniscule and insignificant moment for an onlooker that they'd be perceived as utterly ridiculous for reacting so dramatically. Luckily for that onlooker mind reading isn't a thing, otherwise they'd see some ungodly images flashing through the pair's heads.

God forbid they heard me calling them a pair. They'd have me beheaded.

"Let me." He says, his voice rougher than he'd intended. He flinches at the sound of it and cringes even more when she does in fact let him take the bag, stepping away from the spot she'd crouched to collect it from the floor.

And again he finds himself in the agonizing position of watching her go without having a morsel of a chance to stop her. Truly, there's nothing he could say even if he were to stop her. They've always had a preference for few words - rather hostile ones, at that. So, what's there to say? They said plenty but not via words just last night.

If only they could resume that conversation.

"Hey!" Y/N calls out to Kat, picking up the pace of her steps so she can catch up to her.

Disentangling her arm from Sam's, she turns to her best friend, "What's up?"

On instinct, Y/N links their arms together in silent gratitude for, well, everything. Years of friendship. Years of Kat putting up with all seasons of her attitude. "I never got to say thank you for not letting me home with that guy. And I'm sorry if I was being bitchy about it. I know you did it for my own good."

It's far from the first time Kat has had to pull such a maneuver to keep Y/N safe. Hell, she dragged her out of this guy's car once. No feat is too big when it comes to keeping each other safe, and that goes for both sides. Although the rescue missions have been pretty one sided, seeing as how one has far less self preservation. I'll let you have a guess who that is.

The expected reassurance never comes, beckoning Y/N's gaze to Kat's face where she finds a pretty confused expression. "What guy?"

Mortification seeps into Y/N's bloodstream with a searing heat creeping up the back of her neck. "'What guy' as in you don't remember or 'what guy' as in there were several?" She doesn't really wanna hear the answer, rather she sink into the floor, but she has to know. Ignorance is bliss and all that but it's also the coward's weapon. And she ain't no coward.

"No, no. I mean, yeah, there were several..." Kat is very obviously and very unsuccessfully trying to soften the blow of the answer's delivery, "But you only danced with them. There was this one you were adamant on leaving with but thankfully Colby stopped you."

No amount of cushioning would've prevented that sentence from hitting her like a ton of bricks.

Kat mistakes her silence for anger so she hurries to add on to her previous statement, "He did the right thing, though! Please don't be mad at him."

Oh, I'm mad at him. But not for the reasons you might think...

Y/N snaps out of her thoughts with a shake of her head, "No, no, I'm not mad at him. In fact, I should probably thank him."

To say Kat is taken aback by these unbelievable words would be an understatement, "Ok, let's not got that far. I don't know what natural disaster may occur if you do that."

Oh, they've gone a lot further than Kat can ever imagine.

The tension of uncertainty climbs in the car with them, leaving a lot to be speculated and anxiously awaited. One thing is concretely certain, however - this is gonna be another long fucking night.

* * * * *

Y/N's ears are perked up with expectation. Not so much in search of a knock or creak that could be considered as loose evidence but in hopes of hearing footsteps. She hates it, how each sound puts her on edge for all the wrong reasons.

She's not waiting on any paranormal entity to make itself known. She's waiting for a rerun of last night. Hoping for it is a better way to put it. Hoping on him and hating on herself.

Ten minutes, that is the window of time they decided on for the solo investigation portion of the night and it's going by too quickly for her liking. Typically the minutes would stretch on in endless anxiety whenever she found herself alone in these supposedly haunted places. And yet tonight, she wishes she could buy a couple extra minutes. Or maybe buy herself a new brain if she were to listen to the more hostile part of herself. The part of her that is so against what went down that it's fucking exhausting.

But the footsteps never come. Not because the other party doesn't want to make the venture just down the hall but because he's convinced she'd forever hate him if he were to give into his temptation.

He's no stranger to hate and anger from her. What he's afraid of is avoidance. Indifference.

So, he stays put. Or tries to.

Out of the ten minutes he was left alone in room 11B, Colby only remained seated for a total of ten seconds. He's been pacing the room like a caged animal, his hand instinctively reaching for the doorknob several times. It felt like fighting with his second nature trying to pry himself free from the urge.

But fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on the perspective - he prevailed. Ten minutes in isolation, almost completely forgetting the quest at hand.

The solo investigations come to an end with a ping from everyone's phones, letting them know the time is up. The sound sends shockwaves down Y/N's spine as she comes to terms with the fact that she's been stood up by both the spirits and living.

Upon exiting the room, she finds herself to be faced with another of the Universe's cruel jokes in timing. She'd much rather have just run into a shadow figure if she's being honest. But a shadow figure he is most definitely not. Not with such piercing blue eyes, anyway.

For a brief second they are left in silence, just staring each other down. But it'd be very unlike them to let the quiet linger for any longer. So, Y/N takes it upon herself to break it, "Glad to see you didn't pussy out and make a run for it this time."

Very on-brand for a Colby-Y/N interaction. Or it would be if he were to retort with the same sort of hostility. He does, but not verbally. Instead, in two long strides, he finds himself in her personal space, giving her no room to dodge him. Not that she would, she talks a big game and stands behind it. Even now, trapped between his body and the wall with only mere inches separating them, there's not even a twinge of hesitation in her stance or gaze.

"What, were you waiting for me or something?" He too is no stranger to pulling on her strings but he'd usually do it from an arm's length away. Not a centimeter away from her face.

The retort she's ready to spit at him dies in her throat when she feels his fingers ghost over her thigh, giving an almost accidental tug on the chain dangling from the belt loops of her shorts.

As soon as the contact was established it has dissipated with Colby taking a step back, "Forgot to give it back."

His words throw her for a momentary lop before her hand comes to clasp the small bump in her pocket. Reaching in, she retrieves the lighter he so smoothly swiped from her yesterday. By the time her brain has processed what just happened, he's already disappeared down the hall, leaving her leaning against the wall on unsteady knees and with a newfound craving to light a cigarette.

"Fuck you, Brock..." she mutters under her breath, darting down the hall in search of the nearest exit so she can give into the urge to drown the breath they briefly shared in nicotine.

* * * * *

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Hair tousled, lipstick smeared, heels in hand - that's Y/N's current state. The worst of it, in her opinion, is that she's sober. The two drinks she downed about three hours ago evaporated from her system long before they could affect her perception of time and space. Throughout the whole night she was all too aware of the pair of eyes that remained trained on her the whole night. And she was even more aware of the sudden disappearance of the heat on the back of her neck when Colby inexplicably disappeared from her viewpoint. From the club entirely.

Curiosity scratched at her brain but she pushed it down, restraining the need to ask Sam and Kat where he'd gone. Why he'd left. Who he'd left with. To be fair, it would've been pretty hard to get answers out of either of them, seeing as how they were too busy making out on the dancefloor.

Or at least that's the last she saw of them before they too disappeared from her immediate vicinity. After a solid fifteen minute scavenger hunt for her friends she called it a night and made her way back to the hotel, discarding her heels halfway along her journey.

The texts she sent Kat remain unanswered but as she ventures down the hall to their shared room she gets the answer to at least one of her questions - Colby's whereabouts.

Whereabouts that place him seated on the carpeted hotel hallway floor, back against the door to her and Kat's shared room. His head is tilted back, his eyes peacefully shut. Or at least they were until her question startled him back into weariness.

"Sam and Kat banished me from the room. Can I crash with you?" He makes no attempt on getting up despite appearing sober himself. He's just exhausted, mentally more so than physically.

She's tempted to be petty. In fact she can feel horns poking through at the top of her head at just the thought of leaving him without a place to stay for the night. It's a minor revenge for seven years of animosity and a chaotic twenty four hours of anxiety and overthinking. But she can simultaneously feel a vastly different sensation heating her body at the thought of having to share a room with him for the night.

Does she believe that ridiculous crap about being the bigger person? Hell no. Is that enough to just leave him out in the hall? Well....

"Only if you keep your hands to yourself." She says, twirling the keycard to the door between her fingers like a taunt.

Little does she know the real taunt for him at the moment is her two inches too short dress. Listen, he's a gentleman, but if she were to take one more step toward him, it would take an ungodly amount of self control to look away.

Instead of letting those unorthodox thoughts render him speechless as they wrack his body, he finds it in himself to sass her right back, "Only if you follow your own rule."

She offers him no verbal reply. All he gets in response is a scoff and eye-roll before she approaches him, offering him a hand to help him get up to his feet.

He's a wise man - he takes something when he's offered it. But he's also insightful, more so than he lets on. And that allows him to give others what they haven't even come to terms with wanting. Which is why he doesn't let go of her hand once he stands up. Instead, he rounds it behind her back, gently locking it in place as his lips come crashing down onto hers.

Despite the rule she put in place, she's all too eager to meet him halfway, returning the same burning passion he's showing her. There's not a fiber of her being that isn't currently on fire, not a single thought that's rational, not a single hesitation that is being heard.

She's overdosing on him and enjoying every second of it.

Colby's free hand tangles in her hair while the other steals the keycard from her secured hand, swipes it and pushes the door open, guiding them blindly into the pitch black room.

They don't need a light anyway. The way their hands roam each other's bodies with such familiarity, it feels like a regular occurrence. Like they give into their hidden desires frequently enough to know the other's body by heart, play it like an instrument. Each touch, each kiss, each softly spoken word feels so...right. Not at all out of place, not at all unusal.

It's been seven years coming, and the waves are finally crashing down over them.

Only the moonlight lazily seeping in through the windows bares witness to this culmination of animosity, anger, hostility - the result of which is awfully gentle. Well, gentle might not be the best term if you were to factor in his hand around her throat and her nails scratching down his back.

Said hand of his loosens its already leisurely hold, travelling up to her jaw then her cheek where it cups her face in a - dare I say - loving gesture.

It stirs up something too warm and fuzzy for Y/N's rough nature. Yet she still embraces it, not without a snide comment though: "Don't get sentimental on me now, Brock."

She's quick to bite back her words and replace them with a moan as he marks her stomach with a not at all modest hickey, "Don't worry, I'll still hate you in the morning."

She laughs. Genuinely laughs. This night is full of surprises, is it not. "You better."

They greet the dawn on the balcony, her back pressed to his chest, his arm loosely wrapped around her waist. And as if we didn't already count plenty of milestones... In seven long years, they'd never smoked together. That changes now.

"You still hate me?" Colby dares to ask through an exhale of smoke. I believe the answer is pretty obvious though, considering she hasn't tried to headbutt him the whole time his chin has been resting on top of her head.

Although he hasn't heard it much, at least not in response to him, her laugh has officially become his favorite sound in the world. "Of course I do."

"Good."

"You?"

"I've never hated you more." He accentuates his response by capturing her lips with his own in a sweet kiss.

* * * * *

"Hey, Kat." Colby speaks up softly, careful not to disturb the still drowsy Kat that's so ready to fall asleep the very second her butt hits the airplane seat.

"Hmm?" She offers in response. It's too early for either her or Sam to form words and Colby respects that.

"Mind switching seats with me?"

Now that wakes her up, the force of the statement's meaning not at all corresponding with the softness of his tone.

"You think you'll be, um, safe? Sitting next to Y/N and all that?" Although inwardly buzzing with excitement at the potential of her years long labor finally baring fruits, she needs to make sure there will be no murders on this flight.

What Kat doesn't catch is the smirk Colby sends Y/N's way over her shoulder. A smirk she returns with the same level of mischief.

"I think I'll manage."

Tagging: @jessy-shine @benbarnesprettygurl @mushycore @smuttiest-smuttt @honey-bees-13 @richardsamboramylove55

#sam and colby #colby brock #colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fluff #colby brock fic #colby brock imagine #colby brock smut #sam golbach imagine #sam golbach smut #sam golbach x reader

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ironstrange1991 · 2 years ago

Text

Careful What You Wish For

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The reader and Stephen are students at Kamar Taj and when she needs his help with her exams, Stephen makes her an indecent offer.

Word Count: 6,5k

Warnings: SMUT: Dubcon, hate sex (at least in the beggining), handjob, oral sex with male receiving, forced (?) deep throat, umprotected p n v, lost of virginity, mentions of pain and blood, forced (?) creampie.

A/N: It took me a while to finish this fic, but I'm very happy with the result. Hope you like it.

You had been a student at Kamar Taj for no more than a few months when the new guy arrived. You were in the hall and even served him tea at the time, then you left letting the Ancient One and Master Mordo speak to him. However, of course you were peeking behind the curtains listening to the entire conversation. You saw the disrespectful and absurd way in which he addressed the Ancient One and you also saw how she, with all her power and somewhat sadistic humor, put him in his place.

You spent that day studying the old books that Wong had recommended for you and as you did so you heard the incessant knocking on the door and the shouts of "Let me in" or "I have nowhere to go." The situation was funny at first because like the Ancient One, you also had a certain sadistic side, but after hours of that incessant whining you started to feel sorry for the man. He was kinda cute.

When he was allowed to join you and become a student of the mystic arts you decided that you would not make his life easy. Whenever you could, you teased him for being the new guy, for being the guy whose hands could barely conjure mere sparks. During training in the courtyard, The Ancient One always had the two of you train together and you didn't take it easy on him. You might be small, but you were agile. He on the other hand was tall, had a well defined body, not too thin, very muscular, but was extremely slow. Apparently all the years of being an arrogant rich guy had made him soft and you liked seeing him lying on the floor whenever you got the chance.

"Y/n, no messing around. Grab your relics and get into fighting stance." Master Mordo instructed in one of the training afternoons and you chose one of the relics, but when the new guy went to get his, you slapped his hand making him look at you with a mixture of surprise and irritation. He was very handsome when he was angry, his blue eyes darkening with the fury he tried to contain. Wounded pride showing in every line of his furrowed brow.

"You don't deserve a relic yet, old man."

He ran his tongue across the corner of his cheek, clearly annoyed, but decided to play along. "I already told you my name is Stephen Strange."

You shrugged, getting into a fighting stance. "And I already said I don't care. Now be less miserable and conjure a weapon, so I'll feel less bad when I hit you."

He chuckled nervously, making a valiant effort to conjure something that could barely be described as a weapon, but it would have to do because you quickly went in for a blow that he reasonably defended himself from.

You smiled mischievously "You're getting better. I've always believed it's possible to learn through pain."

He clearly didn't like your comment, because he struck a blow at you that you barely have time to defend yourself by creating a shield.

"You don't know anything about my pain." He spat out the words.

Apparently you had hit a nerve. Excellent.

Your relationship with Strange didn't changed much beyond that for a long time, but you liked to think that somehow you were growing inside him, because he was always close even when you didn't necessarily need to be together. Like in the library.

It was as if he always knew the exact time you were in the library and would go there and steal books that were clearly not allowed for someone of his level. Not even at your level.

"You're going to end up with your head in a bucket over this." You said one of those nights while reading under the light of a single candle at the farthest desk in the library.

"Only if you tell on me." He responded, bringing the book under his arm and coming towards you. He threw the heavy book on the table and smiled arrogantly at you. When you looked at the book your eyes widened in complete amazement.

"This book belongs to the Ancient One's collection, are you crazy?"

He pulled out a chair and sat at the desk with you. "Wong said no knowledge is prohibited at Kamar Taj."

You rolled your eyes "Yes, I know that speech, it was exactly that that led Kaecilius to perdition."

Strange stared at you and then at the book. "So this is the book that was stolen."

"If it's in your hand, it's obvious that it wasn't stolen. Only a spell was removed from it. An evil spell that neither you nor I have the slightest idea of what it does."

But it was useless, every word of warning seemed to instigate the man even more. You had been around Strange long enough to know that he was hard-headed and when he put something in his head no one could take it away.

You closed the book you were reading and levitated it to the shelf by moving little more than your fingertips.

"Show off." He scolded as he flipped through the forbidden book.

"If you allow me, I will leave before you do something that’ll get us killed, or worse, expelled."

With that he smiled widely, that must have been the first time you saw him smiling, at least for you.

"Did you just quote Harry Potter? How old are you, twelve?"

You shrugged. "I'm 21 in two weeks, I'll take a gift." You said walking down the hall.

As days went by, it became increasingly clear to you that all that provocation had a much deeper meaning than you wanted to admit. You've never been with a man, in fact you've never even been interested in a man. Your life has always been studying and after you were orphaned after a car accident that killed your parents and almost killed you, you felt lost in the world and found out about Kamar Taj and dedicated yourself one hundred percent to it. That's what you always do, you find a source of interest, become completely obsessed and devote yourself to it until you learn everything you can from it and then move on to another obsession. At that point you were already recognizing the pattern and wondering how far you could go with that obsession with Strange when teasing or pestering him during training seemed to not be enough anymore.

You started teasing him in other ways, wearing robes that were tighter than necessary, shorts and tank tops that were smaller and shorter than allowed, all so he could get a good look at what he was missing. That is, of course, if he had any interest in you in the same way that you had in him. To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing. Provoking him was easy, but seducing wasn't exactly an area you had mastered.

The day before your birthday you were in the kitchen stealing what was left of your cake frosting when Strange caught you in the act. You were only wearing skimpy pajama shorts and a top that barely covered your breasts and bent over as you were, half of your body inside the fridge, you could imagine the image Stephen had of your ass.

"You should be embarrassed." His baritone voice came from behind you and in shock you hit your head on the top of the fridge which made him laugh. That laugh was something new and the way it made your stomach flutter was new too.

You took the pot out of the fridge, but left the door open, illuminating the dark kitchen with a beam of yellow light.

"It's my cake, my birthday, I have the right." You responded by sticking your index finger into the bowl and scooping out a little more of the icing and sticking it in your mouth teasingly taking it out with a loud pop.

You could see him swallowing thickly, his eyes getting darker with what you didn't quite know what it was.

"I'm referring to walking around the Kamar Taj dressed like that."

You shrugged "It's hot in Kathmandu." You made sure to smile mischievously at him. "After all, what are you doing walking around the Kamar Taj at this hour, Strange?" You questioned as if you had any right to it.

He pulled out a chair and sat down. "I can't sleep. My hands are hurting more than usual."

You looked at him for a second, still leaning against the sink with the glass bowl in your hand, trying to think of what to say to him, but ended up opting for the easiest answer.

"You don't expect me to take pity on you and offer to massage your hands or something, right?" You tried to sound sarcastic, but since there was some truth in your suggestion, your voice sounded softer than you would have liked.

"I don't want pity, but a massage would be nice."

“Fuck off” You replied, turning around to put the bowl in the sink and wash your hands, but mostly to hide how red your cheeks had gotten.

He sighed, getting up and mumbling a good night and leaving the kitchen and you stood there wondering if he was really serious or not. In any case, that was absurd, you both didn't have that kind of intimacy.

You ended up as usual in the library, finishing the last chapters of the book that you needed to finish for the end of the year exams. When you joined Kamar Taj, you didn't realize how much theory you would have to learn, you always thought it would be more practice than books and exams, but things weren't exactly as you imagined and you weren't as good at theory as you were in practice. Your memory wasn't like Strange's. The bastard could memorize an entire book in that deranged brain of his, you could barely memorize your own notes. Clearly there was a bargaining chip there, you thought ironically. I massage his hands and he help me study.

You chuckled to yourself thinking how absurd the idea was, but as you read the endless pages of the book that confused you more than clarified the subject, the more tempted you became to actually make the offer to Strange. The best you could get for an answer was no, right?

Finally, you gave up on your studies and put the books back on the shelves and left the library towards the dorms, you were still deciding between going straight to your dorm or knocking on Strange's door when you heard a sound coming from his room. You stopped in front of the door, your hand on the doorknob waiting and then you heard it again, a groan. He must have really been in a lot of pain to be groaning like that. You even felt bad about the way you spoke to him in the kitchen earlier.

You gave up knocking and simply turned the handle and to your surprise the door opened. It was dark inside, but the little light coming from the window made it clear as day what he was actually doing or trying to do and before he noticed your presence another groan escaped his lips followed by a curse "Damn hands. "

You swallowed heavily and closed the door behind you and only then did he notice your presence.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He asked completely defensively, adjusting himself in the small chair at the desk that could barely contain his entire size in it. At the same time he removed his hand from inside his boxers, but there was an erection there so obvious that the white fabric did little to hide.

"I came to make you an offer, but since you're busy I can come back another time." You answered turning around to leave.

He groaned and in that sound you could feel a little frustration, a little irritation and also some curiosity. “Wait.”

He snapped his fingers and some light bulbs came on. "If you tell anyone what you saw here, I swear I'll kill you." He threatened.

You smirked, "Threatening to kill me isn't the best thing you can do to keep my mouth shut. It's actually the worst thing, since we both know you're no match for me in combat."

He raised an eyebrow challenging you. "I've evolved a lot since I got here, Y/n, don't underestimate me."

You shrugged. "I'm not here to fight, Strange. I came to ask for help with my studies. You know my exams are coming up and I'm not as good in theory as I am in practice. If I do poorly in the exams, The Ancient One won't let me participate in the advanced spell training and I'm really excited to get started...”

"Let me get this straight. You're asking for my help? Is that right?"

You walked over to him and sat on the bed, crossing your arms dramatically. "Unfortunately it's my only option."

He shifted again in his chair and you couldn't help but notice that thing between his legs.

"So... what do you say?"

"I could help you. The question is whether I want to or not. Let's think about it for a minute. Since I got here you have dedicated yourself to make my life really hard. You are an insufferable brat, you are rude... "

"Okay, I understand. Where are you going with this? Are you going to help me or not?"

Strange smiled mischievously as if suddenly some brilliant idea had crossed his mind. "It will depend on what you’ll give me in return."

Something about that smile made the heat rise to your cheeks again and you swallowed thickly.

"You mentioned early in the kitchen that your hands were hurting. I thought… maybe you wanted a massage or something." Your voice became lower and lower and by the end of the sentence it was almost a whisper.

He hummed, "Something like that." He replied and then sighed heavily.

"Do you know what the big problem with my hands is? I can't jerk off"

You looked at him, completely shocked that he was saying that to you, but you supposed that after teasing him for all that time, he didn't exactly have much respect for you, especially because he must have already noticed that you maintained a certain interest in him.

"And tonight, after you were showing off that ass of yours for me in the kitchen I really needed to jerk off."

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

"You tease me and tease me, but you don't offer anything in return. You keep wearing these indecent clothes and I know it's not because of the heat, but because you want me to look at you. You call me an old man, but I know you love how old I am. So spare me that innocent face of yours because I know you're not innocent."

Actually, you were, but you didn't tell him that. You had never been with a man. Some heated kisses, yes, some touching and teasing, but nothing more than that. The problem was that you played your role too well.

"Are you going to help me or not?" You mumbled.

"Come here." He asked and you hesitated for a moment, but then you gave in and slowly walked towards him, stopping in front of him, waiting for what he would say next.

"I don't want a massage. I need your hands to jerk off. In other words, I want a handjob. A really good handjob and depending on how good it is I might be good and help you pass those exams."

You chewed on your lip. There was a part of you that liked the idea of being intimate with him like that, but another much more conscious part knew how wrong it was. You weren't comfortable with that situation.

"And how exactly is a really good handjob? I need to know my chances here if I'm going to do this."

He smirked. "Let me see your hands. Palms up."

You obeyed.

"They're small, which means you'll have to use both at the same time because, as you can see..." He brought his hands to the sides of his boxers and in a quick movement they were on his knee, freeing his huge dick. "It's very big."

"You're an arrogant idiot, you know that?" You mumbled, unable to hold your tongue in your mouth.

He grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his cock and instinctively you wrapped it around him and it felt so warm and so hard, you didn't imagine it was that hard.

"Come on, you know what to do!" He said, closing his eyes and sighing heavily.

You knelt down to his height and moved your hand up and down, but clearly something was wrong. "Shouldn't it be wet?" You asked innocently, to which he let out a small chuckle.

"Yeah, I don't have lube. You'll need to use your own spit."

You looked at him in surprise, but he clearly understood your reaction as disgust.

He sighed dramatically, held his own cock by the base and spat on it and then moved his trembling hand spreading the saliva over the entire length. "There. It's wet now."

You grabbed him, determined to end it once and for all. From what you knew, he hadn't had sex for a long time and if you did it right he wouldn't last long.

You started to pump him up and down quickly, but contrary to your plans, he held your hand "Slow down, I want to enjoy myself for a bit."

You sighed doing what he wanted, you used both hands to stroke him slowly making sure to rotate your hands on the way down and making sure to touch his head on the way up. It was your first time doing that, but you weren't a saint, you had already watched porn and remembered some things and by the way he started to squirm, barely able to stay still in the chair, you could tell you were doing something right.

He started to moan too, at first low and then louder and soon some words began to escape his lips as if he was unable to contain them.

"Fuck Y/n, you really know what you're doing, don't you? Oh I missed this, it's been so long!"

You couldn't hide from yourself that his words seemed to move you, it was almost as if you could feel a warmth in your chest, a surge of pride at being praised by him and more than that, you felt your panties getting wet.

There was no point trying to hide that you were enjoying this. Deep down you always imagined yourself in some kind of erotic scenario with Strange. Alone in your small room, you found yourself thinking about him and he was right, you teased him to try to get some reaction from him. You just never imagined things would happen this way, but you were too involved in it to care.

You watched in delight as how much of that sticky liquid came out of his tip the more you stimulated him, and you also realized that you liked the noises that your hands jerking him made, not to mention his moans that got louder and louder. The next thing you knew, you were squeezing your thighs together and he only didn't notice because he had leaned his head back and kept his eyes closed, but when an involuntary moan escaped your lips he looked at you intently with a grin in his lips.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? You dirty little brat!"

You couldn't maintain eye contact with him, so you kept your eyes on his cock, noticing every vein, every detail of that cock that was the first one you had the chance to see up close.

You spat on his cock and continued your work without responding to his provocation, but he wasn't willing to let it go.

"Look at me."

You did what he asked somewhat reluctantly.

"I want your mouth, sweetheart."

You looked at him in surprise, not because of what he asked, but because of the way he referred to you and especially because of how it made you feel.

"I... I don't know how to do it." You replied and he smirked.

"I find that hard to believe."

You looked away feeling your face even hotter. Was it really possible that you had played your role so well that you managed to make the man you were interested in believe you were a whore? You were not. You weren't even close to that, but now it was too late to try to change his opinion about you.

"Tell me how you like it." You asked, disguising your inexperience.

"Deep in the throat. That's how I like it. But I'll take what you give me. Just use this mouth of yours for something more productive than talking shit."

You were slightly offended and bothered by the way he was treating you. Despite everything, in your fantasies he was always kind, but you tried not to let that show and opened your mouth as much as you could and he stuck his head in and instinctively reached his hand up to your head and grabbed a handful of your hair. "Use your tongue, swirl it in the head."

You did exactly as he asked and felt his hold on your hair tighten. He started to push your head down, forcing you to take him deeper and deeper until you gagged and tears ran down your face.

"That's how I like it." He took his cock out of your mouth and held your chin making you look at him. "There's nothing like a good cock to tame a brat, right sweetheart?"

You swallowed the saliva you had gathered in your mouth and nodded obediently.

"You can take a little more, can't you?"

You nodded.

"Good girl. Open your mouth really wide, I'm going to go deeper this time, okay?"

You just nodded again, apparently that was all you could do, obey his commands even if you didn't agree with them. You felt as he pushed his cock deeper and deeper into your mouth, entering your throat until you could no longer breathe. Automatically you grabbed his thighs and started pushing to try to get away from him, but he didn't let you go.

"It's okay. Just breathe through your nose" He cooed. You had never heard that tone of voice from him, at least not when he was talking to you, but a part of you liked it.

You did as he ordered, but the sensation was no less uncomfortable when you felt him going down your throat. Your gag reflex was horrible and soon you were crying profusely as streams of saliva ran down your mouth as he continued thrusting against your throat.

"Look at you, you're crying on my dick, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how beautiful this is?"

You pushed his thigh again and tried to lift your head and this time he allowed it.

He continued holding your hair though and wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"Not such a bully now, are you?"

You were feeling overwhelmed, your voice refused to come out and there was a secret part inside you that was loving the feeling of being used, even when you knew deep down that it was wrong.

He stood up and pulled you up too. "Let's make a deal. I'll touch you now and if you're dry I'll let you finish with the handjob and we'll stop here..."

You stared at him, fully aware of the mess that was between your legs.

He smirked, pleased with your reaction and continued explaining "...but if you're wet... Oh sweetheart, if you're wet, I'll fucking ruin you."

When his hand slipped into your shorts and panties your legs were shaking and could barely support you standing. You knew you should tell him the truth, that you should stop it while there was still time, but you couldn't. You were paralyzed. Physically your body was having positive reactions, you were soaking wet between your legs, you were ready to take him. But mentally you were a mess. This wasn't what you imagined for your first time. It wasn't how it should be.

"Oh I knew it! I could smell it on you. Your arousal... such a sweet smell."

You placed your hand over his hand "Strange... I don't know..."

"Shhh, it's okay. I think you can call me Stephen now."

He moved his middle finger through your folds and circled your clit making your hips move involuntarily against his hand. He brought his face closer to yours and for a minute you thought he was going to kiss you, but instead he whispered in your ear. "You always wanted this, right? All the teasing was because you wanted me. I bet you've already touch yourself thinking about me, haven't you?"

You didn't respond, but when he took two fingers inside you, you winced feeling a sting deep inside. He didn't seem to notice.

"Tell me." He insisted.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"I always wanted you." You whined.

He hummed "I'm here now. I'm going to give you what you've always wanted."

With that he bent you over the desk and pulled your shorts and panties down to your knees and you could hear him spitting into his hand.

"Stephen...w-wait..."

He spread his saliva at your entrance and you clung as best you could to the edges of the small wooden desk bracing yourself for what was to come.

He didn't say anything, he just buried himself inside of you with a strong, firm thrust and it was done. All the fantasies, all the expectations around it disappeared in a second, giving way to pain, a tearing sting that brought tears to your eyes, but you didn't make a sound.

He groaned in pleasure, but in confusion too and then stopped altogether. When he spoke again his voice sounded low and slightly nervous.

"Were you a fucking virgin? Really?"

You let out the breath you were holding in small puffs, "I t-tried to tell you."

He pulled out and turned you around to face him. "You didn't tell me shit. How was I supposed to know?!"

You wiped the tears from your eyes "It's no big deal okay? I should have resolved this a long time ago, I just never found..." You bit your tongue before you said too much. You had already given him too much power over you that night.

Stephen ran a hand nervously through his mouth. "We'd better stop this here." He stated, but you held his hand.

"Stephen... it's no big deal. I want this. Just... do it."

He held your face between his huge, shaking hands and stared into your eyes and you could see all the certainty in him slipping away but you had to keep going. If you stopped now it would be too humiliating.

"Stephen, please." You whispered.

"You stupid little brat!" Stephen said with a heavy sigh and then kissed you. An angry and desperate kiss. A clash of lips, tongues and teeth mixed with the hums that escaped your throats.

In one quick movement he picked you up, bride style, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

"What are you doing?"

He walked over to his bed and laid you carefully on the pillows.

"If we're going to do this, sweetheart, let's do it right."

You watched as he got rid of his tee and found yourself analyzing every inch of his body. He was so beautiful, his defined chest and abdomen, his strong arms, his hands... you lost count of how many times you stared at his hands while your mind conjured up the dirtiest scenarios possible.

"Like what you see?" He asked arrogantly and you couldn't help but roll your eyes, it was stronger than you. "If I didn't like it I wouldn't be here."

"I thought you were here to offer me a deal." He smirked grabbing your shorts and panties that were still tangled around your knees and pulling them off. He threw them on the floor, staring at you with a damn arrogant smile on his lips. "Give up being a brat, this behavior doesn't suit virgins."

You felt the heat returning to your cheeks, but you didn't have time to think of a response because he climbed onto the bed and came on top of you, your legs parted so he could settle between them and before you could understand what he was doing, his lips were on your belly as he lifted the tank top you were wearing and continued his assault on your skin. He kissed and bit you while lifting your top exposing your breasts. He caught your nipple in his mouth, sucking it with newfound passion. A low moan escaped your lips while he did it and you moved your hips up involuntarily. He hummed pleased with your response.

"Stephen...please."

He moved his lips up to your neck, sucking a bruise on your sensitive skin. The touch of his goatee making your entire body shiver. He continued moving his mouth up, nibbling on your earlobe, breathing heavily into your ear on purpose while grinding his hard dick against your uncovered pussy.

"Tell me what you want." He whispered.

But instead of answering him, you surrendered to your fear and asked. "Will it hurt more?"

He cupped your face. "The worst part is over, but I'll take it slow now, I promise."

You shook your head. "No. Just do whatever you have to do until you make me feel good."

He grabbed your chin with more force than you would expect and used his other hand to direct his cock to your entrance and kissed you as he entered you again, going all the way in. You felt the same sting deep in your belly, but it hurt less this time, however the discomfort of having him inside you was something you still needed to get used to. He was big and even though he wasn’t moving you could feel his dick pulsing inside you. It was an strange sensation.

"Now move with me." He asked, grabbing your thigh and wrapping your leg around his waist and with that going even deeper. The movements began, he thrusted slowly but hard and you clung to him, your arms wrapped around his torso, nails biting against the skin of his back as you tried to imitate his movements.

The whole time his lips didn't leave your lips, your chin, your neck. He kissed and bit everywhere he could reach and in between his kisses he let out moans and groans and little praises.

"Oh fuck, this little virgin pussy feels so good... so tight."

You didn't imagined how much of the sexual response was much more physiological than a conscious thing. Before you even knew it your body was moving beneath his with much more desire and the pain and discomfort were replaced by a type of pleasure that was much stronger than the one you got when touching yourself in your room. Each thrust from Stephen triggered a new wave of desire and suddenly what he was giving you didn't seem to be enough, you wanted him all inside you, you wanted him to merge with you until it was no longer possible to know where one ended and the other began.

"Oh my god... it feels so good." You moaned against his lips as you wrapped both legs around his waist, crossing your feet behind his back and trapping him there.

"Yeah? My cock feels good inside you. Isn't that right, sweetie?"

“Uh hum” was all you could respond, but it was enough to inflate Stephen’s ego even more and he groaned loudly in response, gripping the headboard and you couldn’t tell how, but you knew he was close. There was something about the way his eyes were fixed on yours, his breathing became faster, his movements more irregular and in the midst of your bliss you were still able to reason "Stephen... I'm not taking anything."

But your words didn't have the effect you expected, on the contrary, he seemed to become even more determined to finish. His mouth fell open, loud moans and grunts escaping straight from his throat and his thrusts became even harder and faster.

"You're being such a good girl for me. Letting me fuck your pussy raw. I think I'll make it up to you." He rested his forehead on yours and continued. "I'm going to fill you with my cum and you're going to take all of it, won't you?"

You shook your head, but he shushed you.

"Of course you will. I'll leave you leaking my cum for days so you remember what you get for being a good girl. Who knows, maybe you'll come back for more?"

"But... we can't..."

He thrusted even harder against you and your mouth went agape with the feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. You knew you were close, but at the same time it was unlike anything you had ever felt. I was stronger and it seemed to come from much deeper inside you.

"Of course we can. Going to fuck a baby inside you, sweetheart. I know you will look beautiful carrying my baby."

Your pussy fluttered at those words. How was it possible for you to feel that way? You knew you couldn't let him do that, but you didn't have the strength to fight him when your body was against you. The tension inside your stomach increased and you were so close, all you needed was a small push to fall and surrender to your climax.

"S-Stephen... I'm gonna cum. Oh my... shit."

He kept his pace holding on to the headboard to put more strength into his thrusts while with his other hand he grabbed your chin making you look at him.

"Look at me, Y/n. I want to see it happening. Show me how good my cook is making you feel."

"So good... cock feels so good inside me. I am so lucky." You muttered, barely aware of your own words. "I need to cum. Let me cum... Please..."

He smirked, surely satisfied with your total submission. "You can cum, sweetheart. Do it now."

The tension exploded within you with an intensity you had never experienced before. Unlike every time you came, the sensation was not concentrated in your clit, but came from the inside out, making your entire body shake and tears accumulate at your waterline.

"There you go." Stephen stopped thrusting, watching you with a victorious smile on his lips and then kissed you, a wet kiss, full of lust and desire. Fuck, he was such a good kisser. You felt yourself melting on his lips.

He groaned at your lips and, against your will, you felt him spilling inside you. You knew you should fight it, but in your state of pure bliss you couldn't find the strength within yourself to even try.

He broke the kiss only to lower his lips to your neck where he sucked a bruise too visible for you to hide with your robes. But you knew that was exactly his intention. He wanted to claim you. Showing you that from that moment on you were his and no matter how absurd it might seem, you liked the idea. In fact, that was exactly what you wanted.

He rolled to the side when he was finished, his breathing slowly returning to normal and you lay there feeling the weight of everything that had happened, disbelief and shame finally taking over you. You were suddenly terribly self conscious about lying naked on Strange's bed while his cum dripped from your violated pussy.

In the middle of your internal debate you decided to get up, but you were interrupted by Strange who held your arm and asked with some disbelief. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To my room. I... I think I need a shower."

He cupped your face smirking "Wait here. I'll clean you up."

You waited for him motionless on the bed, your heart beating so hard you could hear it pounding in your ears. You heard the sounds coming from the bathroom, he had left the door open and the room was too small so you couldn't hear him. He peed and wash himself and then came back a few minutes later with a towel in his hands and went back to bed. He cleaned you gently, the towel was wet with warm water and it felt good although the whole situation was extremely embarrassing.

"I'll help you with your studies." He said when he finished what he was doing. "You can wait for me in the library after dinner, but you can't rely on that alone to pass your exams. You need to read. That's what works for me. Hours of reading."

You sat on the bed and stared in disbelief at the small stain of blood on the white sheet. Your face blushed so hard you needed to look the other way.

"I shouldn't have done what I did, Y/n. I had no idea you were a virgin. I'm so sorry. I imagine it wasn't what you expected your first time to be."

You shook your head. "I always wanted it to be you." You confessed, staring at your hands. "You're right. I have feelings for you. That's why I tease you... so you'll notice me."

He sighed, but there was a certain tenderness in his eyes that you had never seen before.

"And do you want this to continue, or it’ll be a one-time thing?" Stephen asked and for a second you could see expectation in his eyes, as if he was waiting a long time for the answer he wanted to hear.

"I don't know, Strange. Do you want it to continue?"

He smirked looking away and then he nodded. "Yes. I want to do it again. And you can keep calling me Stephen. I think it's the most normal thing after I took your virginity."

You felt the heat running down from your cheeks to your neck.

"You look beautiful all red like that." He smiled at you. "I always thought you were beautiful, Y/n."

He came closer and cupped your face and kissed you. Soft and calm for the first time. Your lips moved in sync and somehow this kiss felt even more intimate than the others. When he broke the kiss there was a passionate smile on his lips.

He sighed getting up. "Feel free to use the bathroom. I'll change the sheets so we can sleep."

You did as he suggested, hiding in the bathroom while he disappeared with the evidence of your lost innocence. You took the opportunity to wash your face with clean water and went back to the room. He was already lying down and patted the mattress for you to join him. You picked up his tee that was on the floor and put it on and then lay down on the bed next to him. He pulled you into his arms and you both fell silent.

I need to know that you're okay, Y/n" He said.

You nodded. "I'm fine. Really." You glanced at him for a moment and then smiled. "You can call me sweetheart whenever you want. It's terribly cute." You teased.

He pinched your cheek "As you wish, sweetheart. Now let's try to sleep. We need to wake up early for training tomorrow. Promise you'll be good to me."

Your smirked “I’ll try.”

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